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The fatal candle flickered as its heat caused the fragile balloon to 

expand. 




THE 

CRYSTAL CLAW 


BY 

WILLIAM LE QUEUX 

AUTHOR OF “MADEMOISELLE OF MONTE CARLO,” 
“THE VOICE FROM THE VOID,” ETC. 


Frontispiece by 

GEORGE W. GAGE 


NEW YORK 

THE MACAULAY COMPANY 



Copyright, 1924 

By THE MACAULAY COMPANY 


& 


Printed in the United States of America 

AUG 22 74 

©C1A801456 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


CHAPTER 

I Mid Silent Snows. 9 

II A Temporary Bride.26 

III The Deadly Foehn.44 

IV Whispers of Women.59 

V Establishes Some Curious Facts . . 74 

VI The Ham-Bone Club.88 

VII In the Web.97 

VIII Doctor Feng’s View.107 

IX Crooked Paths.119 

X In Room Number Eighteen . . . . 131 

XI Love vs. Honor.143 

XII Strange Suspicions.158 

XIII Spume of the Storm.171 

XIV In the Night.191 

XV More Disclosures.204 

XVI Growing Suspicions.218 

XVII Plot and Counterplot.231 

XVIII Missing.244 

XIX At Heathermore Gardens . . . . 254 

XX The Child’s Air-Ball.267 

XXI Who Was Doctor Feng?.278 

XXII The Secret Disclosed.298 

























THE CRYSTAL CLAW 









¥ i 






























i 



THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


CHAPTER I 

MID SILENT SNOWS 

“Yes, an extremely pretty girl/’ remarked old 
Dr. Feng, bending towards me and speaking softly 
across the table-a-deux at which we were dining at 
the Kiirhaus hotel at Miirren, high up in the snow- 
clad Alps. “A honeymooning couple, no doubt,” 
he went on —“nice place this for a honeymoon!” 
and the white-haired old Chinese who—most un¬ 
usual in one of his race, had a long white beard— 
smiled as he poured out a tiny glass of white curagao, 
the only form of alcohol I ever saw him indulge in. 

I glanced across in the direction he indicated 
and saw seated in a corner, a pretty dark-haired 
grey-eyed girl of twenty. She wore a flame-col¬ 
ored dance frock, and was laughing happily as 
she chatted with a good-looking young man, perhaps 
six years or so her senior. The young fellow was 
smart and distinguished-looking and the girl was 
very handsome, with irregular features, and singu- 
9 


IO 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


larly expressive eyes, but hers was a nervous, rest¬ 
less physiognomy that rather chilled one at first sight. 
The expression in both their faces told the truth 
quite clearly. They were, indeed, newly wed, and 
they had that evening arrived on the funicular rail¬ 
way from Lauterbrunnen, in the valley below, by 
the service which had left Victoria station the pre¬ 
vious afternoon. 

“Yes, a very handsome pair,” I agreed. “I won¬ 
der who they are?” 

“Don’t inquire. When you marry, Yelverton, 
you won’t like people to be inquisitive. All newly- 
married people are super-sensitive, you know,” de¬ 
clared my companion. 

Dr. Feng Tsu’tong, despite his seventy years, 
did not look a day more than sixty. Much above 
the common height for a Chinese he possessed fea¬ 
tures of the type which seldom show many signs 
of advancing age. Erect and virile he carried him¬ 
self like a much younger man and of his activity and 
endurance I had had ample proof, for, in our fre¬ 
quent long tramps and ski expeditions across the 
snow, he had shown me more than once that his 
muscles were equal to my own, despite the great 
disparity in our ages. 

He was a highly-cultured and widely read man. I 
imagined when I first met him, as I found to be the 
case when I knew him better, that he must have 


MID SILENT SNOWS n 

left China many years before, for he spoke per¬ 
fect English, though with a slight American ac¬ 
cent. His quaint philosophy had made an instant 
appeal to me. Though he was much older than I, 
his mental outlook was surprisingly young and we 
had become constant companions and very firm 
friends in quite a short time. I have seldom met a 
man in whom I felt such complete confidence and 
sympathy as in this old Chinese doctor- We spent 
much time together, often taking long expeditions 
afoot or on ski or sometimes as partners in a game 
of curling of which he was passionately fond. 

Our acquaintance as a matter of fact had been a 
casual one. I had left London blanketed under 
fog and rain and after a twenty-four hours’ journey 
by rail had found myself in Miirren—that winter 
paradise of the young, opposite the towering Jung¬ 
frau with its attendant heights, the Monch and 
the Eiger, high up in a glittering world of sun¬ 
shine, snow and silence. The scene looked almost 
like a typical Christmas card. We were so high 
up that by day the sun shone brightly from a sky 
as blue and cloudless as that of Cannes, there were 
ten feet of powdery snow everywhere and the crys¬ 
tal-clear air was as bright and invigorating as cham¬ 
pagne. 

Giacomo, the smiling head waiter, had placed me 
with Dr. Feng at a small table set in the window in 


12 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW « 


the great salle a manger. We had taken to each 
other at once and had become companions, not only 
at meals, but on the superb ice-rink which was in 
perfect condition as was flooded and re-frozen each, 
night. There we skated or curled, or we took excur¬ 
sions on the wonderful rack-railway up to the All- 
mendhubel, or else over the snow to what is known 
as the Half-way House, or else down to the 
Blumen-tal. 

Murren in winter is par excellence a sports centre 
for young people who indulge in skating, toboggan¬ 
ing, lugeing and skiing, the winter sports that are, 
in these post-war days, happily eclipsing the exotic 
pleasures one obtains on the Riviera. There, in 
the Bernese Oberland, the vice of gambling hardly 
exists save in the form of occasional bridge as a 
relaxation after the day’s sport. 

Each winter the Kiirhaus hotel is a centre for 
the ever-growing band of enthusiasts who meet there 
for the bright social life and superb out-door sport 
which Murren affords. These are the people who 
truly enjoy themselves healthfully. Skiing and sim¬ 
ilar pursuits demand perfect physical fitness and at 
the Kiirhaus one is in the centre of wholesome out¬ 
door exercise by day and in the evening of a gay 
merriment which only seems to round off and com¬ 
plete the pleasures of days spent in the open air 
on the towering mountain slopes. At Murren one 


MID SILENT SNOWS 13 

finds a winter life that cannot be excelled in Europe. 

The scene was wonderfully attractive. All around 
us were the great hills clothed in virgin snow, dotted 
here and there with merry parties of girls whose 
bright sports costumes provided startling splashes 
of color against the white background. Every¬ 
where pretty lips laughed in the sheer joy of young 
exuberant life. Everywhere merry conversation 
rang out from dawn to dusk, everybody seemed to 
be active, healthy and happy. 

But beneath all the fun and frivolling I had found 
a deeper, more serious note. It was struck for me 
by Dr. Feng. 

More and more I found myself falling under the 
spell of the old man’s mentality. More and more 
I realized how much we had in common. A native 
of Yunnan, he had left China when about thirty— 
chiefly, I gathered, on account of political troubles. 
The range and variety of his knowledge was en¬ 
cyclopaedic: there seemed to be hardly a subject on 
which he could not talk brilliantly if he chose to 
exert himself. And we had one great bond of sym¬ 
pathy—both of us loved music. Feng was a brilli¬ 
ant pianist. I was passionately devoted to the violin 
and we spent many hours over the works of the 
great composers. Like most other young men I 
had a fairly good opinion of myself, but compared 
with Dr. Feng, I was a mere child in musical knowl- 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


14 

edge. Our music, however, made us both popular 
and it had become quite a regular evening custom 
for us to play to the Kurhaus guests in the great 
ball-room. 

There was, however, a still deeper side to our 
intercourse. Feng had initiated me into the first 
principles of the little-known Yogi philosophy—the 
doctrine that the real man is not the visible body, 
that the immortal “I,” of which each human being is 
conscious to a greater or lesser extent, merely occu¬ 
pies and uses the corporal transient flesh. The 
Yogis believe that the body is but as a suit of clothes 
which the Spirit puts on and off from time to time, 
and they insist that the body must be brought under 
the perfect control of the mind—that the instrument 
must be finely tuned so as to respond to the touch 
of the hand of the master. 

Feng had made a deep study of the Yogi teach¬ 
ing and was, in himself, living evidence of a man 
virile and rejuvenated in both body and mind. 
People stood astounded when they were told his 
actual age, and I, admiring him, was now endeavor¬ 
ing in my own way to follow his footsteps. The 
doctrine he urged with such compelling eloquence 
and powers had taken a deep hold of my mind— 
how deep I never realized until I found myself 
flung suddenly into dangers and temptations which 


MID SILENT SNOWS 


i 5 

were to try my physical and mental fortitude to 
their very depths. 

It was the arrival of Stanley Audley and his bride 
that, suddenly and unexpectedly, changed the en¬ 
tire current of my life. And as I sit here placing on 
record this chronicle of bewildering events, I won¬ 
der that I came safely through the maze of doubt, 
mystery and peril in which I found myself so sud¬ 
denly plunged. I can only believe that a man, pro¬ 
foundly influenced, as I very speedily was, by the 
splendid philosophy of Yogi and buoyed up by a 
consuming love for a pure and beautiful woman, 
will face dangers before which others might well 
quail,—will even, as the saying goes, “throw dice 
with the devil” if need be. 

To make my story clear, I had better formally 
introduce myself. My name is Rex Yelverton, my 
age at present moment twenty-eight and the as¬ 
tounding incidents I am about to relate happened 
just over three years ago, so that I was under twen¬ 
ty-five at the time. 

My father had died when I was twenty-three 
and had left me a small estate near Andover. I 
had been brought up to the law and had been ad¬ 
mitted a solicitor just before my father’s death. I 
could not afford to live on the estate, so had cosy 
chambers on the top floor of an old-fashioned house 
in Russell Square and having entered into partner- 


16 THE CRYSTAL CLAW 

ship with a solicitor named Hensman, practiced 
with him in Bedford Row. 

Hensman’s hobby was golf and for that reason 
he took his holiday in the summer. I loved the 
winter life of Switzerland and for some years had 
made it my rule to get away in the winter. In addi¬ 
tion to my music I was deeply interested in wire¬ 
less, and had fitted up quite a respectable wireless 
station in a room in Russell Square. I had a trans¬ 
mitting license and with my two hobbies found my 
spare time so fully occupied that I mixed but little 
in ordinary society. 

On that never-to-be-forgotten night when I first 
saw Stanley Audley and his handsome bride, the 
Doctor retired early, as was his habit. So, strolling 
into the ball-room of the Kiirhaus opposite the hotel, 
I watched the pair dancing happily together, the 
cynosure of all eyes, of course, though the room was 
not very full, as the season had only just begun. 

Like all other honeymoon couples, they were try¬ 
ing to pretend that they had been married for years 
and, like all other honeymoon couples, they were 
failing lamentably! The truth was, as ever, pal¬ 
pable to every onlooker. Like every one else I ad¬ 
mired them, though like every one else, I smiled at 
their pretty pretense. As they had arrived by the 
night train from Calais, I guessed they had been 
married in London about thirty hours before and 


MID SILENT SNOWS 


i7 

had come straight through to Murren. This, in 
fact, proved to be the truth. 

In my admiration of the beautiful young bride 
I was not alone, for a middle-aged, grey-bearded 
invalid, name Hartley Humphreys, with whom I 
often played billiards before going to bed, also 
remarked upon her beauty, and expressed wonder 
as to who they were. It was then that another man 
in the room, also evidently interested, told us that 
their name was Audley. 

Next morning, on coming downstairs, I found 
little Mrs. Audley dressed in winter-sports clothes 
and looking inexpressibly sweet and charming. 

She wore a pale grey Fair Isle jersey, with a 
bright jazzy pattern, with a saucy little cap to match, 
and over the jersey a short dark brown coat with 
fur collar and cuffs, and around her waist a leather 
belt. Brown corduroy breeches, and heavy well- 
oiled boots and ski-anklets completed one of the 
most sensible ski-outfits I have ever seen. That she 
was no novice at skiing was evident from the badge, 
a pair of crossed skis, she wore in her cap. It was 
the badge of the Swiss Ski Club—the same as that 
worn by the Alpine guides themselves. 

Naturally I was surprised. I had, on the previous 
night, believed her to be simply a handsome young 
bride who had come to spend her honeymoon amid 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


18 

the winter gayety of Miirren, but now it was clear 
she was no beginner. 

She had already breakfasted and was smoking a 
cigarette and laughing gayly with an American girl 
she had met on the previous night, and apparently 
awaiting her husband. 

In a few moments the husband, in a wind-proof 
ski-suit and wearing one of those peaked caps of 
blue serge which nobody dare wear save the prac¬ 
ticed ski-runner, came down with a word of apology. 

“I broke my boot-lace, dearest. I apologize.” 

“Oh! That’s all right, Stan,” she laughed, “John 
has got the food in his rucksack.” 

Then I saw that John von Allmen, the intrepid 
and popular young guide, was waiting outside for 
them. They were going on a skiing excursion up 
the Schelthorn. Certainly they were no novices! I 
soon afterwards discovered they had both passed 
their “tests” in previous winters at Wengen and 
Pontresina. 

The sun was shining brightly upon the newly 
fallen snow, although it was not yet nine o’clock, 
and as I watched the happy young couple adjust 
the ski-bindings to the boots and take their ski- 
sticks, those iron spiked poles of cherry wood with 
circular ends of cane to prevent sinking where the 
snow is soft, I noted how merry and blissful they 


were. 


MID SILENT SNOWS 19 

Suddenly the tall, lithe, young Alpine guide in his 
neat blue serge skiing suit drew on his leather mitts, 
hitched on his rucksack and the little party slid 
swiftly away over the snow. 

It was clear the girl was an expert—her every 
movement showed it. Those who go skiing well 
know the difficulty of keeping their balance on the 
long, narrow planks turned up in front which con¬ 
stitute ski. But the bride had long ago passed 
through the initial stages. As I found out later she 
had been year after year to winter sports and had 
long passed the period when she practiced her “tele¬ 
marks” and “stemmings” on the “Nursery Slopes.” 
Her lithe swift movements were delightful to watch 
and it was clear she was enjoying to the full the 
keen exhilaration born of the swift gliding over the 
crisp snow. 

As I stood watching the swift progress of the 
Audleys and their guide, old Dr. Feng spoke 
behind me. 

“A pretty sight, Yelverton. It is good, indeed, to 
be young. There’s an example of the fate lying 
before you: you’ll have to marry some day, you 
know.” 

“No sign of it yet, doctor,” I laughingly replied. 

As a matter of fact, matrimony had so far made 
no appeal to me: I had never met a girl who had 
stirred me deeply. I had many friends—or at least 


20 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


acquaintances—of my own sex, but I was deeply 
absorbed in my hobbies and, not seeking society 
for society’s sake, I had hardly any woman friends. 
Sometimes I fancied that the opposite sex found 
in me something antipathetic and uncongenial: at 
any rate, I made little progress with them and, 
perhaps for that reason, was quite content to remain 
a bachelor and keep my father’s old housekeeper, 
Mrs. Chapman, to “mother” me as she did when 
I was a boy and manage my flat in Russell Square. 

I suppose I was no better and no worse than 
thousands of other fellows of my age. Men coming 
down from Oxford and flung into the whirl of Lon¬ 
don life are not usually Puritans or ascetics. I 
suppose I was much like them. Life was young in 
me, and fortune had been kind. If I had few 
friends, I had no enemies: I had an income ample 
for my wants and I enjoyed myself in my own way. 
My work kept me busy during the day: my evenings 
were filled with music, my “wireless,” an occasional 
dance, or theatre and I was always merry and 
happy. Nothing had occurred to make me, a care¬ 
less youngster, realize that there was something 
in life deeper and dearer than anything I know. I 
was not given to self-analysis or overmuch intro¬ 
spection and that a storm of love might some day 
shatter my complacent existence to bits never crossed 
my mind. My music and my experiments in radio- 


21 


MID SILENT SNOWS 

telephony were about the only serious side of my 
life. So Dr. Feng’s good humored badinage left 
me quite unmoved. 

We strolled together to the curling rink for a 
match. 

Old Mr. Humphreys, a grey-faced financier from 
the near East, and a very charming and refined old 
fellow, sat in his invalid chair watching us. The 
ice was in perfect condition and very fast, so that 
the game was as good as could be obtained, even 
in Scotland itself. The orchestra was playing gay 
music for the skaters, some of whom were waltzing, 
laughter sounded everywhere and the bright sunny 
morning was most enjoyable. 

We lost the match, mostly, I fear, through several 
very bad stones that I played, and our lack of energy 
in sweeping. Curling is a very difficult game to play 
well, for, unlike golf or tennis, one can get such 
little practice at home. 

However, we all afterward retired to the bar, 
and over our cocktails old Mr. Humphreys who, 
being a confirmed invalid, wheeled himself about 
in his chair, chatted merrily. He had arrived about 
a week after I had come. He seldom, if ever, left 
his chair during the day. His guidance and manage¬ 
ment of the chair was wonderful and he could even 
play billiards while seated. He and the doctor were 
great friends and often joined a bridge party to- 


22 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


gether, while I took my skis up the cable railway 
to the Allmendhubel and swept back down the slopes. 

The following afternoon, while passing along the 
terrace of the big chalet which overlooks the rink, 
I found Major Harold Burton, here the secretary 
of the Miirren Bob-sleigh Club, and at home an 
officer in the Tank Corps, chatting with the Audleys. 

“I say, Yelverton!” he exclaimed, “will you join 
us on a test on the bob-run presently? Mr. and 
Mrs. Audley are coming. Let me introduce you.’’ 

I raised my ski-cap and bowed. 

“Thanks,” I replied, “I’ll be delighted to make a 
fourth. You’re the only man I’d trust to take me 
down. It’s too fast for me!” I added with a laugh. 

“Is it really a fast run?” asked the bride, smiling. 

“Well, you will see for yourself,” I replied. 

Laughing gayly we went over the snow, past the 
bend at the village shop where one can obtain any¬ 
thing from a Swiss cuckoo clock, to a paper of pins, 
and whose elderly proprietor is one of the best ski 
instructors in the canton. Paying our fare, we as¬ 
cended by the rack-railway up the snowy heights 
of the Allmendhubel. 

On the truck was our heavy “bob,” with its steel 
frame and runners, and its delicate controls. At 
the summit the attendants pushed it along the flat 
to the narrow entrance of the bob-run which a hun¬ 
dred hands had, a few weeks before, constructed 


MID SILENT SNOWS 


23 

in the snow, digging it all out and making many 
banked-up hair-pin bends down the side of the moun¬ 
tain for two and a half miles back into Miirren. 

Those curves are scientifically calculated for 
speed, but it takes an expert to negotiate them suc¬ 
cessfully. The crew of a “big bob” must know the 
course, and be alert to the command of the driver 
to bend over “right,” “left,” or “up.” One’s first 
trip in a “bob” on a fast run is an experience never 
to be forgotten. But both the bride and bridegroom 
revealed that they had done such things before. 

At the “gate” of the run—a narrow cut eight 
feet deep in the snow—a smiling Swiss stood beside 
the telephone, which gave “clear passage.” Burton, 
as an expert, who took no chances, had the “bob” 
turned over, and examined the brakes and controls, 
which sometimes get clogged with snow. 

We all got in and set our feet forward on the 
rests, I being behind to act as brakesman, and to 
“brake” at the instant order of Burton. 

“Everybody all right?” he asked, as we settled 
ourselves behind each other on the big bob. 

We responded that we were, then four men 
pushed us off down the narrow icy slope. 

Slowly we went at first. Then, suddenly gather¬ 
ing speed, we saw a dead end in front of us. 

“Right!” cried Burton, and all of us leaned over 
to the right and thus negotiated the corner. 


24 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 

“Left!” was the order, and round we went every 
moment gathering speed. 

“Careful!” he cried, “in a minute we shall have 
a right and left quickly. “Now—! Right! Left! 
Up! Quick!” 

By this time we were flying down the side of the 
mountain, showers of particles of ice every now 
and then being thrown up and cutting our faces. 
Now and again we swept through clouds of snow. 
We held our breath and screwed up our eyes until 
we could only just see. 

“Left! Right! Up! Left—again! Right!” 
shouted Burton, and each of us alert and quick, 
obeyed. We were traveling at a furious speed and 
any fault might mean a serious accident, such as 
that in which one of the British Bob-sleigh team 
for the Olympic Sports broke both his legs during 
a run at Chamonix. 

“Straight!” we heard Burton shout as we flew 
along, still down and down. “Right in a few mo¬ 
ments,” he cried. “Be careful. Then a big bump 
and we’re down. Steady!—steady! Now-w-w! 
Right!—Look out! Bump ! Good!” and he steered 
us down a straight path past where the watcher 
stood at the other end of the telephone. 

“Well?” he shouted to the time-keeper, as he 
pulled up, “what is it?” 

“Four minutes, eight and a half seconds, sir,” 


MID SILENT SNOWS 25 

replied the tall, thin-faced Swiss peasant, speaking 
in French. 

“Good! Fairly fast! But we’ll try to do it in 
better time tomorrow.” 

I had sat behind little Mrs. Audley who, turning 
to me, her face reddened by the rush of frosty air, 
exclaimed,— 

“Wasn’t it glorious! I’ve been to Switzerland 
three times before. I passed my third test in skiing 
two years ago, but have never been on a big bob 
run. That last double turn was most exciting, 
wasn’t it?” 

I agreed, and we all four strolled together back 
to the hotel to tea. 

Afterward, as I walked in the twilight upon the 
snowy path leading to the station of the funicular 
railway, I found myself surrounded by groups of 
young men and girls returning from skiing on the 
Griitsch Alp, and other places. But even these 
cheerful greetings and joyous conversations could 
not remove from my mind a new and entirely strange 
feeling of fascination that I felt was exercised over 
me by pretty Mrs. Audley. It was something mag¬ 
netic, something indescribable, and, to me, wholly 
weird and uncanny. I had only spoken to her a few 
casual words. Yet I knew instinctively that into my 
careless and care-free life a new and disturbing 
element had entered. 


CHAPTER II 


A TEMPORARY BRIDE 

Though I was not, as a rule, fond of society, it 
was impossible to resist the infection of the merry¬ 
making spirit at Murren and in consequence I joined 
heartily in all the fun that was going forward. The 
night of the bob-sleigh trip found me playing the 
drum in the amateur jazz band—a dance-orchestra 
formed among the visitors each year, to carry on 
the dancing after midnight. Mrs. Audley and her 
husband came into the dance-hall of the Kiirhaus 
just as the merriment began, and they danced to¬ 
gether while I sat behind the drum with a little 
comic, flat-brimmed hat in imitation of George 
Robey, upon my head. 

“Really your amateur band is more amusing than 
the professional one,” declared Audley, during the 
interval. “Last night we watched you. It seems 
that the visitors wait until you start up.” 

“Well,” I laughed. “We try and keep things 
humming along until two, or even three o’clock. We 
like to play and the others like to dance.” 

2(6 


A TEMPORARY BRIDE 


27 

“My wife loves it,” he declared. “She’s only just 
been saying that she would like to join you.” 

“Right!” I said, laughing. “She shall be our 
pianist tomorrow—if she will.” 

But the bride hesitated. “I’m afraid, Mr. Yel- 
verton,” she said, “that I’m not so good as the 
American girl you’ve got. She’s a professional, 
surely.” 

As a matter of fact she was studying the piano 
in Paris, and was in Miirren for the winter holiday. 

And then we struck up again and the crowd danced 
merrily till nearly three o’clock. 

The following day was a Saturday. I spent a 
large part of the morning gossiping with old Mr. 
Humphreys, whose chief pleasures as an invalid 
seemed to be to play bridge and to smoke his pipe. 
Though his was rather a thoughtful disposition, as 
his deep-sunken eyes and shaggy brows suggested, 
yet he was always a cheerful and entertaining com¬ 
panion. 

“I sometimes stay with my sister at Weybridge, 
in Surrey,” he explained, as I walked beside him 
while he wheeled his chair over the snowy road 
which leads out of the village along the edge of the 
deep precipice overlooking Lauterbrunnen in the 
misty valley far below. While we were in the bright 
keen air high up above the clouds, with the sun 
shining brilliantly over a white picturesque world, 


28 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


below, in the valley, it was dark dull winter. “Very 
soon,” added my friend, “very soon I’ll have to go 
back to Constantinople, where I have a good many 
interests. But I shall only be there a few weeks. AH 
this political trouble makes things very difficult 
financially. Have you ever been in Turkey?” 

I replied in the negative, but added that it had 
long been my desire to go there, and see the beauties 
of the Bosphorus. 

“Yes,” he said, “You ought to go. You’d find 
lots to interest you. Life in the Turkish capital and 
Turkish life is quite different from life in Europe. 
The Turk is always a polished gentleman and, more¬ 
over, the foreigner is now better protected in every 
way than the Turk himself, thanks to the laws made 
years ago.” 

“That, I suppose, is why Constantinople before 
the war was such a hot-bed of European sharks, 
swindlers and bogus concession-hunters,” I re¬ 
marked, with a smile, for I had heard much of the 
“four-flush” crowd from a friend who had interests 
in the Ottoman Empire. 

“Exactly,” he laughed. “It is true that in Pera 
we have a collection of the very worst crooks in 
all Europe. But it is hoped that, under the new 
conditions, Turkey will expel them and begin a 
new and cleaner regime.” 

As he spoke we turned a sharp corner, and Stan- 


A TEMPORARY BRIDE 


29 

ley Audley and his pretty wife, smart in another 
sports suit of emerald green that I had not before 
seen her wearing, shouted simultaneously the warn¬ 
ing, “Achtung!” 

Next second, recognizing us, they greeted us 
cheerily as they slid swiftly past upon their skis. 

“A very charming pair—eh?” remarked old 
Humphreys. “The more I see of them the more 
interesting they become. What do you think of 
the girl? You are young, and should be a critic of 
feminine beauty,” he added, with a smile. 

“I agreb. She is very charming,” I said, “Audley 
is, however, rather too serious, don’t you think?” 

“Yes, I do. She’s too go-ahead for him—she’s 
a modern product as they call it. If a man marries 
he ought to have a comrade, not a cushion. A 
woman, to be a perfect wife, should not be too in¬ 
tellectual. A knowledge of literature, art and sci¬ 
ence does not necessarily make for domestic happi¬ 
ness. In a wife you want heart more than brains. 
Yet a giddy, brainless wife is even a worse 
abomination.” 

“Do you mean Mrs. Audley,” I asked. 

“Not in the least,” he replied quickly. “I don’t 
think she is either brainless or giddy. I am only 
giving you my idea of the perfect wife. The real 
wife would be a mate —the term is used by the lower 
classes and expresses the ideal perfectly. It sums up 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


30 

the whole thing. And I don’t think Mr. and Mrs. 
Audley are really mated, though at present they are 
evidently very much in love with one another. I 
think they married in a hurry.” 

This was a new line of thought for me, and, nat¬ 
urally, I was astonished. But I kept silence. Old 
Humphreys had seen far more of the world than I 
had and I had a good deal of respect for his 
judgment. 

When we got back to the hotel Dr. Feng was 
waiting for me and we went in to lunch together. 
We were late and the big dining room was almost 
empty. After we had finished our meal Feng went 
to his room and I strolled into the lounge intending 
to have a cup of coffee there and then go to my 
room to write some letters. 

To my surprise—for I thought they were out ski¬ 
ing—I found Audley and his wife seated on a settee. 
Both were obviously upset and the bride’s eyes 
showed unmistakable traces of tears. 

To this day I cannot imagine what prompted me, 
but I think it must have been sheer nervous bravado 
for, without passing, I stepped across to them, and 
with a laugh exclaimed,— 

“Well—and what is the matter now?” 

Both stared at me in natural resentment. I could 
have bitten my tongue out in my vexation at having 


A TEMPORARY BRIDE 


3 i 

perpetrated such a banality. I started a stumbling 
apology. 

“Oh, all right, Yelverton,” said Audley, his re¬ 
sentment vanishing, “the fact is we are in a difficulty 
and I don’t quite know what to do.” 

“Can I help you anyhow?” I asked. 

“I’m afraid not. But I’ll tell you how things are. 
We were married in London only four days ago 
and now I have to go back and Thelma doesn’t like 
it. I’m an electrical engineer at the head offices in 
Westminster of Gordon & Austin, the big combine 
which holds concessions for the supply of electricity 
to about forty towns in England. I’ve just had a 
wire calling me to attend a meeting of the directors 
on Monday morning. It is proposed to promote me 
to be manager of the power works at Woolwich, 
which means a big lift that will be a great thing for 
me in the future.” 

“Well, of course, you’ll go,” I said. 

“I suppose I must,” he replied. “But according 
to the papers there’s a big gale in the Channel and 
only the little boat is crossing from Boulogne. 
Thelma doesn’t want me to leave her and she is 
such a bad sailor that if she came with me she would 
certainly be very seriously ill. The last time she 
was seasick she collapsed very dangerously. She 
cannot possibly make the crossing.” 


32 THE CRYSTAL CLAW 

The girl was obviously on the edge of a flood of 
tears. 

“But surely,” I said to her husband, “Mrs. Audley 
will be all right here for a few days. If you care 
to trust me so far I shall be delighted to look after 
her and so, I am sure, will Dr. Feng and Mr. 
Humphreys. She could be with us. You ought 
to be back by Wednesday evening.” 

“It’s awfully kind of you, Yelverton,” said Aud¬ 
ley, “but it rather looks like taking advantage of 
your good nature.” 

“Nonsense,” I said, “we shall all be delighted. 
If you catch the Boulogne express from Interlaken 
tonight you will be in Victoria tomorrow evening 
in good time for your appointment on Monday. 
You can leave again on Tuesday and be up here on 
Wednesday. We will keep Mrs. Audley amused 
until then.” 

Both expressed their thanks and we went to the 
telephone to get on to the Sleeping-car Company 
in Interlaken and reserve a berth. 

I arranged to leave with them at four o’clock 
that afternoon and descend by the funicular into 
Lauterbrunnen, where Audley would take train for 
Interlaken to catch the night-mail for Boulogne. 

Thus, having fixed things up, I left them and went 
up to the Doctor’s room where I told him what had 
occurred. 


A TEMPORARY BRIDE 


33 

The old fellow at first laughed immoderately and 
declared I was extremely foolish to intrude. How¬ 
ever, he was sympathetic enough. 

“Poor little girl!” he said. “Of course she would 
be very lonely. We must have her to sit at our table, 
Yelverton, and of course, my dear boy, you must 
entertain her. Poor little girl!—she has only one 
honeymoon, and to think that it should be so inter¬ 
rupted! Yes. You did quite the right thing,—quite 
right!” 

At six o’clock I stood on the snowy platform at 
Lauterbrunnen station with “The Little Lady,” as 
I called her, and we watched her husband wave 
us farewell as the train left. It was dark, damp and 
dreary down there. A thaw had set in and it was 
sloppy under foot. Lauterbrunnen is not a pleasant 
place in winter. Suddenly she turned to me and 
with a merry laugh exclaimed: 

“Well, Mr. Yelverton, I suppose I am now your 
temporary bride—eh?” 

We laughed together, and then crossed back to 
the little station of the funicular railway and slowly 
ascended until, just in time for dinner, we were back 
again in Murren. 

Naturally, the fun-loving guests at the hotel made 
the best of the news that Stanley Audley had had to 
dash off to London and had left his pretty wife in 
my charge. Chaff and banter flew freely, practical 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


34 

jokes were played on us by the score and the excite¬ 
ment helped to chase away Mrs. Audley’s depres¬ 
sion. And, perhaps, wisely, she sought to get rid 
of her natural sorrow by flinging herself into the 
whirl of the Kiirhaus life. She danced, laughed and 
even flirted mildly with one or two young fellows in 
a way she certainly would not have dreamed of doing 
had Stanley Audley been present. But it was all 
very innocent and above-board and not even the 
strictest moralist would have found fault with this 
gay abandon which, I fancy, was half assumed. For, 
disguise it how she would, she was quite clearly de¬ 
voted to her husband and longed only for his return. 

Next day she lunched with Dr. Feng and myself 
and in the afternoon we put on our skis and I took 
her out over the snow to the Griitsch Alp by a way 
which commanded a magnificent view of the high 
Bernese Alps. We took our cameras with us and, 
on my table, as I write there is a snapshot I took of 
her as, in her smart winter sports kit, she sped 
swiftly down a steep slope with her ski-sticks held 
behind her in real professional style. 

She proved a delightful companion. She was, I 
found, a Londoner born and bred, and she had all 
the genuine shrewdness and good humor of the 
town girl. She was well educated, a perfect ency¬ 
clopaedia of books and plays, and she was, as I knew, 
a splendid dancer. Her mother, the widow of an 


A TEMPORARY BRIDE 


35 

ex-naval officer named Shaylor, lived at Bexhill. Of 
her father she remembered very little: he had been 
on the China Station for many years and his visits 
home had been infrequent. He had died in China 
the year before. 

The humor of my position struck me forcibly. 
Here was I, a young bachelor fairly well off and 
sufficiently good-looking, left in charge of a beauti¬ 
ful young girl who was a bride of only a few days! 
In England, of course, such a position would have 
been unthinkable. It did not seem so strange in the 
free and easy camaraderie of Miirren where the free 
and easy sporting life bred a harmless unconvention¬ 
ality and where even the British starchy reserve was 
very early sloughed off. Everybody made a joke 
of the whole affair and Dr. Feng and old Mr. 
Humphreys laughed like boys at this novel status I 
had acquired. 

Of course there was some malice: there always 
is in a mixed company. After we had glided some 
miles across the snow, we halted and I poured out 
some tea from the vacuum flask I carried. Just as 
Mrs. Audley was drinking a party of men and girls 
from the hotel passed. Noticing us, one of the 
girls made some remark. What it was I did not 
hear, but it produced a burst of ill-mannered laugh¬ 
ter and my companion turned scarlet. 

“They’re horrid, aren’t they?” she said and I 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


36 

agreed. “But it is really delightful here,” she said, 
looking up into my face. “You are most awfully 
kind to us, Mr. Yelverton. Stanley and I shall 
never forget it. If he gets the position of manager 
at Woolwich it will mean so much to us—and it 
will greatly please my mother.” 

“Was your mother—er—against your mar¬ 
riage?” I inquired. 

“Well—yes, she was. She thought I was too 
young. You see I’m not nineteen yet, though people 
think I’m older,” she confessed with a charming 
little moue. “Stanley is an awfully good boy, and I 
love him so very much.” 

“Naturally, and I hope you always will,” I said. 
“Of course, I’m older than you, but our position here 
today is really a bit unconventional, isn’t it?” 

“It is,” she laughed, “I wonder how you like being 
bothered with a temporary bride?” 

“I’m not bothered, but most charmed to have 
such a delightful companion as yourself, Mrs. Aud- 
ley,” I declared. 

We returned to dinner after an enjoyable after¬ 
noon amid those wild mountains and snowy paths, 
and when she came to table she provided one of us, 
at any rate, with a startling surprise. 

We had taken our seats at our table and were 
waiting for her. Seated with my back to the door 
I did not see her enter the room, but I saw Dr. 


A TEMPORARY BRIDE 


37 

Feng, who was facing me, suddenly stiffen in his 
chair and not even his Chinese impassivity could dis¬ 
guise the look of amazement, almost of fear, which 
leaped suddenly into his eyes. 

“Whatever is the matter, doctor?” I jerked out 
in amazement. 

Instantly the old man had himself in hand again. 
But that glimpse of his vivid emotion had startled 
me. Before I could say anything he had risen and 
was greeting Thelma Audley. I sprang to my feet. 

Mrs. Audley was wearing a dainty gown of ivory 
silk—her wedding dress, she told us later, put on 
in compliment to the old doctor. She looked very 
sweet and girlish in it. But Dr. Feng, I could 
plainly see, had no eyes for the dress: his attention 
was concentrated on the extraordinary pendant 
which Mrs. Audley wore on her bosom, suspended 
from a thin platinum chain round her neck. 

“Look what I have had sent me!” she cried as she 
called our attention to it. “Did you ever see any¬ 
thing so quaint?” And she took it off and handed 
it to the doctor. He took it from her with what, 
had the brooch been some sacred emblem, I should 
have thought was an expression of deep reverence, 
and examined it closely. 

It was a sufficiently striking ornament to have 
attracted attention anywhere. It was fashioned in 
the form of a peacock’s foot, about three inches 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


38 

long. The shank, at the end of which was a tiny 
ring through which the platinum chain was passed, 
was of rough gold studded with small diamonds 
and each of the claws was composed of a single 
crystal, cut to the natural shape of the claw. The 
jewels blazed in the glare of the electric lights. The 
pendant was of exquisite workmanship and was quite 
obviously enormously valuable. 

“Why, wherever did you get that, Mrs. Audley?” 
I exclaimed. “It’s really wonderful.” 

“Isn’t it pretty?” she said. “It came by regis¬ 
tered post this evening and I found it waiting for 
me when I went up to dress. Mother had sent it 
on from Bexhill. I don’t know who sent it—there 
was no letter—but perhaps I shall find out when I 
get home.” It was evident she had not the least 
idea of the value of this quaint jewel. 

I was keenly watching Dr. Feng. For some rea¬ 
son I could not explain, I connected the crystal claw 
with the unmistakable agitation he had shown as 
he caught sight of Mrs. Audley entering the room. 

“Did you say there was no letter with it? Per¬ 
haps you have kept the packing,” he asked, gravely 
regarding the jewel as it lay in the palm of his hand. 

“Oh, it came from some foreign place,” Mrs. 
Audley said. “I could not make out the name, but 
I will fetch the wrapper, perhaps you can tell,” and 
she darted from her seat. 


A TEMPORARY BRIDE 


39 

Feng sat silent, turning the claw over and over 
in his hand and closely examining it. He seemed to 
have forgotten me entirely in his abstraction. 

A few moments later Mrs. Audley returned with 
a small box and some peculiar paper in which it had 
been wrapped. The whole had been rewrapped 
in brown paper in England and the original address 
—“Miss Thelma Shaylor, care of Mrs. Shaylor, 
Bexhill-on-Sea, Sussex, England,” was undamaged. 
It was a queer cramped handwriting, evidently that 
of a foreigner. 

Dr. Feng glanced at it. “This was posted in 
Pekin,” he said, “Have you any friends out there, 
Mrs. Audley?” 

“No, certainly not,” was the startling reply. “I 
have never known any one in China. Are you sure 
it is from Pekin?” 

Dr. Feng smiled. “You forget I am a Chinese, 
Mrs. Audley,” he said. “You can be quite sure that 
package came from Pekin. It is wrapped in Chinese 
rice paper as you will see, and the address was 
written by a Chinese.” 

Mrs. Audley looked puzzled. “Well,” she said 
at last, “some one who knows me must have gone 
to China. But it’s very pretty, and I wish I knew 
who sent it.” 

“You must take great care of it,” said Dr. Feng. 


4 o THE CRYSTAL CLAW 

“It is very valuable, apart from sentimental con¬ 
siderations. 

Then our talk drifted to other topics and the crys¬ 
tal claw, for the moment, was apparently forgotten. 
But I noticed that Dr. Feng could not keep his eyes 
off it for long, and he was unusually silent and 
abstracted during the meal. 

Tired from her ski excursion Mrs. Audley left us 
early and went to bed. The old doctor and I were 
sitting in the lounge drinking coffee when I made up 
my mind to ask him about the crystal claw. 

“What does the crystal claw mean, Doctor?” I 
said quietly, shooting the question at him suddenly 
in an interval of our chat. 

He glanced at me keenly. “What do you mean?” 
he asked. “What makes you think I know anything 
about it?” 

“All right, Doctor,” I laughed. “I happened to 
be looking at you when Mrs. Audley came into the 
dining room and saw your face. Also I saw you 
looking at the claw afterward. Don’t tell me you 
don’t know anything about it. Remember I’m a 
lawyer.” 

The old man laughed. “You’re right enough, my 
boy,” he said pleasantly. “I know a good deal 
about the crystal claw. But what I don’t know is 
why it was sent Mrs. Audley—or rather to Miss 
Shaylor.” 


A TEMPORARY BRIDE 


4i 


“Same thing, isn’t it?” I asked. 

“Not by any means,” he rejoined quickly. “That 
claw was sent to Miss Shaylor—to Miss Shaylor,” 
he repeated emphatically. “The fact that she is 
Mrs. Audley has nothing whatever to do with it. 
She thinks it is a wedding present. It is nothing of 
the kind. The man who sent her the crystal claw 
could not have known of her wedding, anyhow.” 

“Tell me all about it, Doctor,” I begged. 

“Well,” he said slowly, “I don’t suppose it will do 
any harm if I do. But you had better keep what 
I tell you to yourself, at any rate for the present. 

“The crystal claw,” he went on, “is the badge or 
sign of the Thu-tseng, a powerful Manchu secret 
society. There is nothing illegal about the society; 
it simply works for the political regeneration of 
China. Hsi-yuan himself is one of its leading lights 
—you know of him, of course. The claw is given, 
so far as outsiders are concerned, only to those 
who have rendered some signal service to the society. 
Now, I cannot see how Mrs. Audley, by any con¬ 
ceivable stretch of the imagination, can have helped 
the Thu-tseng. Excepting myself, she has probably 
never spoken to a Chinese in her life.” 

“Did you know her father was a naval officer 
and was for many years on the China Station?” I 
asked. 


42 THE CRYSTAL CLAW 

Feng started violently, “Is that so?” he asked 
quickly. 

“Yes,” I replied, “she told me so only today.” 

The old man sank back into his chair and pon¬ 
dered deeply. 

“That may explain it,” he said slowly. “It is just 
possible the claw has been sent to her in recognition 
of something her father did. But, if so, it must have 
been something of very great importance. How 
long has her father been dead?” 

“About a year,” I replied. 

“Well,” he said, after another period of thought, 
“there must have been some reason why the sending 
of the claw was delayed. But,” he went on with 
growing animation, “you can take it from me she has 
powerful friends. With that claw in her possession 
she could ask almost anything she liked in any part 
of China today. It would be a magic talisman 
there.” 

Of course, I was as completely bewildered and 
amazed as Dr. Feng. But I could only assume that 
his solution of the mystery was correct. Mrs. Aud- 
ley apparently knew next to nothing of her father’s 
life abroad: certainly she would and could know 
nothing of his political activities there. But Feng 
was confident he had somehow been associated with 
powerful members of the Thu-tseng. 

“I will send some cables tomorrow,” he said, as 


A TEMPORARY BRIDE 


43 

we parted for the night. “I am deeply interested in 
this affair. China is the land of mysteries, and this 
is beyond me. The last time I saw the crystal claw 
was when I was in Tibet twenty years ago. It was 
worn by a monk of a Buddhist monastery there. 
But, of course, I could never find out why he got it.” 


CHAPTER III 


THE DEADLY FOEHN 

Next day, while old Humphreys remained in his 
invalid chair to write some business letters to his 
agents in the Near East, and Doctor Feng had a 
match at curling, I took “The Little Lady” out upon 
the other side of the deep valley to the popular win¬ 
ter sports resort at Wengen, which lies up the 
mountain on the opposite side of the valley. We 
lunched at the splendid Regina Hotel, where every 
one goes, and afterwards took some snap-shots. 
Later we took the train up to the Schiedegg and came 
down on our skis, a glorious run back to Wengen, 
the snow conditions being perfect. In everything 
she was interested, admiring the scenery and thor¬ 
oughly enjoying the run, until we returned in the 
darkness up the mountain side again to Miirren. 

I had come to the conclusion that Mrs. Audley 
had been a London business girl, for she told me she 
knew shorthand and typewriting, and she was 
evidently familiar with business affairs. The old in¬ 
valid had become even more interested in her. He 
studied her as the type of the modern girl and she 
44 


THE DEADLY FOEHN 


45 

certainly was always bright and vivacious when with 
us. Dr. Feng, however, though he was invariably 
polite to her, seemed to have become, for some rea¬ 
son, decidedly antagonistic. It is true the position 
was decidedly unconventional and irregular, but I 
could not reconcile his present attitude with his 
earlier and very obvious liking for Mrs. Audley. He 
now disagreed utterly with my quixotic offer to look 
after her and did not hesitate to say so. 

“You are playing with fire/’ he declared. “You 
are both young and she is a very pretty girl. The 
best thing you can do will be to clear out.” 

I laughed, of course, and told him I had only 
accepted this responsibility in order to help a man 
out of a difficulty. 

He shook his head. “You don’t know, either of 
them, and you don’t know what you may have let 
yourself in for.” 

I wondered, naturally, whether he had been influ¬ 
enced by the arrival of the crystal claw, and asked 
him bluntly if this were the case. 

“Not at all,” he assured me. “The crystal claw 
has nothing whatever to do with it.” 

In spite of all he said I would not take his advice. 
In the headstrong way of youth I put him down as a 
thoroughly conventional old fogey, a survival of the 
Victorian era when girls were compelled to go about 
with chaperons and the smoking of a cigarette was 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


4 6 

a vice to be indulged only in the strictest privacy. 
So Mrs. Audley and I continued to enjoy ourselves, 
skating each morning on the rink and skiing to¬ 
gether in the afternoon over the freshly fallen snow. 

With a view to throwing additional light on the 
mystery of the crystal claw I tried as delicately as I 
could to “pump” her about her father. But it was 
evident she knew little or nothing beyond what she 
had told me. “He was a naval officer on the China 
Station for many years,” seemed to sum it all up and 
I wondered whether, for some reason I could not 
divine, further knowledge had been deliberately 
withheld from her. Of Eastern political affairs she 
obviously knew nothing. 

Of her husband she said little, though I saw she 
was devoted to him. 

“When we get back, Stanley and I hope to get a 
flat at Hampstead,” she said one day when we were 
resting after a swift run on skis close to the Half¬ 
way House—which is on the electric railway line 
which runs from Miirren along the edge of the 
precipice, before one changes into the rack railway 
to descend to the valley. 

That night at dinner there was a strange incident. 
Mrs. Audley came down in a gown which was the 
envy of many girls in the hotel. It was made of cire 
tissue, and the yoke and hem were of silver lace, 
The front panel was ornamented with pin tucks and 


THE DEADLY FOEHN 


47 

finished with a chou of flowers. It was a charming 
frock. On her breast the crystal claw winked and 
blazed in the light of the lamps. 

Old Humphreys, contrary to his uusual custom, 
had come into the dining room for dinner and was 
seated in his wheeled chair at the same table as Mrs. 
Audley, Dr. Feng and myself. 

I shall never forget the look that came over his 
face when he caught sight of the crystal claw! 
Rage, fear and amazement mingled together until 
the old man looked positively demoniacal. Luckily, 
Mrs. Audley was talking to Dr. Feng and neither of 
them noticed him. 

It was a moment or two before the old invalid 
could control himself. Then his face resumed its 
usual expression. But I had caught a glimpse of the 
hell that, for a brief moment, must have raged in 
the old man’s mind and once again the crystal claw 
seemed to be associated with something sinister and 
dangerous. 

“That’s a pretty new brooch you have, Mrs. Aud¬ 
ley,” said the old fellow in a grating voice which 
showed that even now he had hardly recovered 
himself. 

“Yes,” she laughed merrily, “isn’t it sweet? It 
came by post, sent to me from Pekin. I haven’t any 
idea who sent it for there was no name. It has been 
forwarded from London, and is no doubt a wedding 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


48 

present from somebody who has forgotten to en¬ 
close a card.” And she turned over the crystal claw 
so that he could admire it. 

Afterwards we crossed the snowy road to the 
Kiirhaus, where in the spacious ballroom we danced 
together. She also danced with two or three other 
admiring partners. Old Mr. Humphreys wheeled 
his chair into the dancing room as was his habit each 
evening. It was pathetic to see the grey-haired thin¬ 
faced man who seemed so active in every other sense, 
deprived of the power of locomotion. When he left 
his chair he managed to hobble along and with great 
difficulty up the stairs with the aid of rubber-capped 
sticks. Mostly, however, the porters carried his 
chair upstairs to the first floor and he wheeled him¬ 
self along the corridor to his room. 

On the following morning, according to arrange¬ 
ments made over night, we started at nine o’clock 
and taking with us John, the smart, ever-smiling 
guide, we started out on our skis to ascend the 
Schwarzbirg, nine thousand feet high, by way of the 
Bielen-Liicke. The ascent we found extremely in¬ 
teresting, but the weather, even when we started, 
and grey and threatening. Now and then snow 
clouds drifted quickly across, and that dangerous and 
mysterious Alpine wind, the Foehn, ever and anon 
grew gusty. It was clear a storm was threatening. 

“A little blizzard, perhaps,” remarked the slim, 


THE DEADLY FOEHN 


49 

agile John, in his soft English, as he slid along over 
the snow. 

Weather conditions in the Alps change with every 
moment. A blizzard may succeed brilliant sunshine 
within five minutes—a blizzard that whips the face 
with its icy blast, piles snow deep, and freezes one 
to the marrow. In the glacier regions of the higher 
Alps, the weather cannot be depended upon for a 
few minutes together. 

Thelma, that day, wore the ski kit in which I had 
first seen her—the Fair Isle jazzy patterned jersey, 
and over it the short little wind-proof jacket 
trimmed with fur, and her corduroy breeches and 
stockings. It was in every way serviceable. 

Presently when she had, to my surprise, executed 
what is known as an “open Christiania,” and we 
were skiing together across a great plateau of snow 
far above the tree-line, with John fifty yards ahead 
of us, she suddenly exclaimed— 

“Do you know, Mr. Yelverton, I’ve heard noth¬ 
ing from Stanley except a telegram sent from Vic¬ 
toria at six o’clock on Sunday night, announcing his 
arrival. I’ve wired, but I’ve got no reply. I’m 
worried about him, but I don’t want to bother you.” 

“That’s curious,” I remarked. “To where have 
you sent your wire?” 

“To his office in Westminster.” 

“Well, you ought to have had a reply. But never 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


50 

mind,” I said. “He’s due back tomorrow night. 
We’ll go down to Lauterbrunnen and meet him— 
eh?” 

The sky had suddenly become darkened and a 
strong tearing wind had sprung up. We had left the 
plateau and upon our skis were following John 1 
“herring-boning” up the side of the mountain. 
When one starts “herring-boning” one faces the in¬ 
cline and points the skis outwards at a considerable 
angle to each other—then the slope can be mounted 
by lifting the skis forward alternately and placing 
them in the snow on the inner edges, the angle be¬ 
tween them remaining the same. 

It was a steep slope, so we made wider angles be¬ 
tween our skis to prevent them slipping backwards. 

We were lurching heavily from side to side in 
order to throw the weight of one ski while lifting the 
other, when John suddenly shrieked the warning, 
“Achtung!” 

Next second I heard a soft hissing sound over¬ 
head, then a loud rumbling which increased to thun¬ 
der. I instinctively seized Mrs. Audley. The next 
moment we were struck violently in the back, cov¬ 
ered by a blanket of snow, and hurled down the 
mountain-side amid an avalanche of snow, stones 
and rocks. 

When, very slowly, I awakened to a sense of 
things about me, I found I had bitten my tongue 


THE DEADLY FOEHN 


5i 

badly and felt a severe pain at the back of my skull 
where, I suppose, I must have struck a rock. Mrs. 
Audley was still in my arms and unconscious, her 
bleeding face white as marble. Both of us were 
deeply imbedded in the snow, but our heads fortu¬ 
nately lay clear, otherwise we must certainly have 
been suffocated. The avalanche had swept us down, 
but as I had instinctively grasped my dainty com¬ 
panion, we had been held together. 

Blood was flowing freely from the wound in my 
head, and Mrs. Audley’s face was cut and bleeding. 
As quickly as possible I disengaged myself from the 
heavy weight of snow upon me, and strove to rouse 
her from her swoon. The thought that she might be 
dead drove me well nigh frantic. 

I seized her by the shoulders and shook her vio¬ 
lently. Then with trembling fingers I tore open her 
jacket, jersey and silk blouse, and bent my head to 
listen. Her heart was beating faintly. 

My vacuum flask of hot tea was battered and 
broken but in an inside pocket I had, providentally, 
a small flask of brandy which was undamaged. I 
forced a few drops of the spirit between her pallid 
lips. 

Her lips moved. A moment later she opened her 
big grey eyes and asked me in a whisper: 

“Where am I?” 

“You are safe,” I assured her, holding her in my 


52 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


arms. ‘‘Don’t worry. We’ll be out of this very 
soon.” 

“But where are we?” she asked gazing around 
upon the snowy surroundings. “Where is John? 
Tell me!” 

I told her briefly what had happened. 

“But where is John?” she queried. “I hope he is 
all right. It was very foolish for us to venture up 
here after the warm Foehn of yesterday,—wasn’t 
it?” 

“I expect John is all right,” I said. “He warned 
us, and no doubt took precautions.” Guides in the 
Alps seldom fail. 

With difficulty we wriggled out of the snow and 
stood up. Even in our shaken condition we could 
not but admire the panorama of the Eiger, the Jung¬ 
frau and the Wetterhorn, across the darkening val¬ 
ley before us. But haste was imperative: the light 
was fading quickly and we were a long way from 
Miirren. 

I had lost one of my skis, which had been torn 
from its strong Huitfeldt binding in our fall. Mrs. 
Audley’s, however, were intact, and we started to 
descend. She soon recovered in the keen Alpine air, 
and was able to help me, lame dog that I was. Re¬ 
peatedly we gave the six shouts recognized as the 
regular Alpine distress call, but there was no reply. 

It was quite dark when we struggled back, to find 


THE DEADLY FOEHN 


53 

that our guide, having happily escaped, had arrived 
before us and sent out a search-party. By shouts 
and flashing signals, this was soon recalled. 

At the hotel they put Thelma to bed at once, while 
after the Swiss doctor had seen to my head, I sat 
in the bar recounting my experience and drinking a 
strong whiskey and soda. 

Dr. Feng and Humphreys were both most eager 
to know the details of our adventure. But later the 
doctor said— 

“I think you are very foolish, Yelverton! You 
ought never to have had anything to do with the 
bride, she will only bring trouble upon you. Humph¬ 
reys agrees with me. You’re a young fool!” 

‘‘Probably I am,” I replied laughing! “I very 
nearly lost my life over it today.” 

“You are a regular Don Quixote,” he said. 
“Well, I admire you after all. You would be a fine 
young fellow, if you were just a little more 
cautious.” 

“Cautious!” I laughed, facing the old doctor, 
“I’m young. You are old. You weren’t cautious 
when you were my age, were you?” 

“No,” he answered. “I suppose not—I suppose 
not.” 

The night-mail train from Boulogne arrives at 
the little station at Lauterbrunnen each evening 
about five o’clock. The next afternoon therefore 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


54 

Mrs. Audley, who had quite recovered from her 
accident on the previous day, accompanied me down 
into the valley by the cable railway. She was all ex¬ 
citement, for her husband, before his departure, had 
promised to return by that train, and had, indeed, 
booked his sleeping-berth by it. 

At last the train came slowly in from Interlaken, 
where the change is made from the wagon-lit . A 
number of hurrying English visitors descended but 
Stanley Audley was not among them. 

Bitter disappointment was written upon the girl’s 
face. 

“He must have missed the train at Victoria,” she 
declared. 

“Well,” I said, “There is not another through 
train until tomorrow—unless he travels by Paris 
and Bale.” 

The station master, however, informed us that 
the service from Paris would not arrive till early 
next morning, so that we were compelled to reascend 
to Miirren. 

Audley’s failure to telegraph or write to his wife, 
struck me as uncommonly strange. 

While we were in the narrow little compartment 
of the cable railway, I ventured to put several ques¬ 
tions to her concerning him. But she would give 
only evasive replies. 

Next day she went to the little wood-built post- 


THE DEADLY FOEHN 


55 

office alone and despatched several telegrams to 
various addresses, but the replies she received gave 
no news of her husband. Evening came again, but 
Stanley Audley was not among the arrivals from 
London, though I was with Thelma on the arrival 
of the mountain train at Miirren station. 

“I cannot make it out,” she said as we sped back 
to the hotel on our skis. “Surely he must be delayed. 
Perhaps he has telegraphed to me and the message 
has gone astray!” 

“That may be,” I agreed in order to reassure her, 
but personally I felt much mystified. 

Next day I telegraphed to the managing director 
of Gordon & Austin, the electrical engineers in 
George Street, Westminster, asking for news of 
Stanley Audley, and in response about five o’clock 
in the evening came a reply which read: “Stanley 
Audley is not employed by us and is unknown to us.” 

I said nothing to Thelma, but finding Dr. Feng 
alone, showed him the telegram. 

The old doctor grunted with dissatisfaction. 

“Something wrong somewhere,” he remarked. 
“One should always be very careful of hotel ac¬ 
quaintances. I warned you at the time that you were 
indiscreet to offer to look after the bride of a man 
you don’t know.” 

“I admit that! But the whole affair is very mys- 


56 THE CRYSTAL CLAW 

terious. He told me a deliberate lie when he said 
he was employed by Gordon & Austin.” 

“Yes. He’s a mystery, and evidently not what 
he pretended to be. What does his wife think?” 

“I haven’t shown her the telegram.” 

“Don’t. Try and discover what you can from 
her.” 

“You don’t seem to like her, Doctor,” I said 
bluntly. 

“No. I don’t like either of them,” the old man 
admitted. There’s too much mystery about the pair. 
I was discussing them with Humphreys this morn¬ 
ing, and he agrees.” 

“It is not Thelma’s fault,” I said. 

“It may be. She evidently knows more about her 
husband than what she has told you.” 

“Well, she’s told me nothing,” I replied. 

“There you are! She is concealing the truth. Go 
and find out all you can. And don’t be indiscreet. 
Your present position is dangerous. Perhaps he’s 
left her deliberately and palmed her off upon you, 
hoping that you will both fall in love, and he can 
free himself of her at your expense. Such things are 
not unknown, remember!” 

“I don’t believe it,” I declared. “I undertook a 
trust—foolishly if you like—and it is up to me to 
carry it out to the best of my ability.” 

“Ah! my dear boy, your eyes are closed very 


THE DEADLY FOEHN 


57 

often,” the old doctor said. “The lookers-on see 
most of the game, and I’ve seen one or two little 
things which show that your temporary bride is not 
adverse to a little secret flirtation.” 

“How?” I asked quickly. 

“Well, she’s on quite friendly terms with that 
young fellow, Harold Ruthen.” 

“Ruthen!” I echoed. “I didn’t know they were 
acquainted. I’ve never seen them speak.” 

“No, not when you are about,” replied the old 
man laughing. “But I’ve often seen them chatting 
together.” 

This surprised me. Harold Ruthen was a rather 
foppish, fair-haired man about my own age, whose 
airs were of the superior type. His interest in 
Thelma had not escaped me, but I had never seen 
them speaking together. He was, I understood, an 
ex-oflicer, and he was a very good skater. But at 
first sight I had taken an instinctive dislike to him 
and, that he should have made Thelma’s acquaint¬ 
ance in secret, greatly annoyed me. 

I felt myself responsible to Stanley Audley, even 
if he had deceived me. 

Now I found myself in a difficulty. Only at that 
moment I recollected how, on the morning before 
Thelma’s husband had announced his forced return 
to London, I had seen Ruthen walking with the 
doctor up a narrow path with high snow-banks close 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


58 

to the hotel. They were deep In conversation, and 
old Feng seemed to be impressing some point upon 
Ruthen while he listened very attentively. 

Did Dr. Feng know more than he admitted? 

I must say that I did not like his hostile attitude 
towards the newly wedded pair, an attitude which 
now seemed to be shared by old Mr. Humphreys. 

That night, when Thelma came to table, she was 
wearing a charming gown of almond green, that 
we had not seen before. Though she looked beauti¬ 
ful, her face was more serious than usual, and I sus¬ 
pected that I saw traces of tears. 

As we sat together I fell to wondering who was 
Stanley Audley? Why had he deceived his young 
wife, and then deserted her, leaving her in my 
charge ? 

Had I fallen into a clever trap? 


CHAPTER IV 


WHISPERS OF WOMEN 

Two days passed, yet Stanley Audley did not re¬ 
turn. 

On the afternoon of the second day, old Mr. 
Humphreys spoke to me in confidence while we sat 
at tea, which is almost a religious ceremony in 
Miirren. 

“Funny about that young fellow Audley,” he said. 
“Have you discovered anything further?” 

“No,” I replied, “the fact is I don’t like to be too 
inquisitive.” 

“Of course, but the girl is left in your charge, and 
you certainly have a right to know the truth,” de¬ 
clared the old invalid. “Personally, I don’t like the 
situation at all. I shall go back to London in a few 
days, but do let me know how you get on, for I am 
interested. You can always write to me, care of the 
Ottoman Bank in London.” 

I promised, and finding Thelma, who had just 
come in from the rink, where there had been an 
ice-hockey match, I greeted her in the hall as she 
went downstairs to tea. 


59 


6 o 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


Later we went for a stroll together and as we 
passed out into the grey twilight, young Ruthen held 
open the door for us, bowing, but not speaking. 
Before me the pair posed as strangers. 

“I don’t like that fellow!” I remarked, as we 
walked along the snowy road out of the village. 

“Neither do I,” was her quick response. 

“But, if I’m not mistaken, Mrs. Audley, you are 
acquainted with him,” I remarked. 

“Well—yes—and no,” she said. “It is true that 
he thrusts himself upon me whenever he has the 
chance, and your back is turned. I’ve snubbed him a 
dozen times, but he is always lurking about.” 

“Then you are not friendly with him?” 

“On the contrary. I confess I don’t like him,” 
she answered quite frankly. Whereupon I resolved 
to try and catch him speaking with her and tell 
him what I thought of him. 

“He’s a cad!” I declared. “He pretends to be a 
gentleman, but he does not behave like one.” 

“You speak as though you are annoyed, Mr. Yel- 
verton,” and she laughed lightly. 

“I am. You are left in my care, Mrs. Audley. 
Your husband would be very angry if he knew that 
the fellow pestered you with his unwanted atten¬ 
tions, would he not?” 

“I suppose he would,” she faltered. 

“I wonder why we hear nothing from Stanley?” 


WHISPERS OF WOMEN 61 

I said. “It is all very mysterious. Do you know 
that he is not employed by that electrical firm in 
Westminster? They know nothing of him!” 

She halted, held her breath and stared at me. 

“What!” she cried. “But surely he is at Gordon 
& Austin’s? I left him at their offices one day just 
before our marriage and he went in there.” 

“They know nothing of him,” I assured her, tell¬ 
ing her of their reply to my inquiry. 

“I really can’t believe it,” she said in a voice of 
despair. “Stanley could not have lied to me like 
that.” 

“Have you ever met his parents?” 

“No. They are in India—at Lucknow.” 

“But what do you know about him? Where did 
he live before you married him?” 

“He had rooms in Half Moon Street. I went 
there once or twice,” and she told me the number. 

“How long had you known him before you mar¬ 
ried?” I inquired. 

“About six months, but he was mostly away in 
Paris, on business for his firm.” 

“That is the story he told you, but it is now 
proved to be incorrect. The firm have no knowledge 
of him.” 

“There must be some mistake,” she said, much 
puzzled. 

“Did you introduce him to your mother?” 


6 2 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


“Yes, he came home to Bexhill once and stayed 
the week-end at the Sackville. Mother liked him 
awfully, but at the same time she thought I was too 
young to marry.” 

“Then during the time of your engagement he 
was mostly away—eh?” Did you ever meet any of 
his relatives?” 

“No,” she replied—rather hesitatingly. I thought 
then she endeavored to change the topic of our con¬ 
versation. 

I, however, pursued it. A suspicion forced itself 
on my mind that she really knew a good deal more 
than she would tell me. But though I persisted for 
some time she would tell me nothing more and 
naturally I began to be annoyed. I did not wish to 
think hardly of her, but it was impossible to stifle 
entirely the suspicions that insisted on forcing them¬ 
selves upon my mind. Had I been caught in some 
carefully prepared trap or had I merely made a 
colossal fool of myself? 

Ten minutes later, my companion, bursting into 
tears she could no longer control, blurted out— 

“I’ve been foolish, Mr. Yelverton—so very fool¬ 
ish ! The fact is I—I’ve married a man—a man—/ 
did not know!” 

“Did not know,” I gasped in turn. “Is that really 
the truth?” 

“It is,” she said sobbing. “I—I believed all that 


WHISPERS OF WOMEN 63 

he told me, but now I have found out that what he 
said was false. And—and already he has deserted 
me!” 

“But you love him,” I said, full of sympathy for 
her in her obviously genuine distress. “Perhaps, 
after all, we are misjudging him. Something has 
occurred which prevents his return. I will wire at 
once to Half Moon Street and see whether we can 
get any news.” 

“Yes, do,” she urged. “Mr. Belton is the man 
who keeps the chambers. I recollect the name.” 

So we turned back to the chalet post-office whence 
I sent a reply-paid telegram. Next evening came 
the answer. “Mr. Audley left for abroad about 
two months ago—Belton.” 

That was all. We had at least one person who 
knew him and who might place us in possession of 
more facts than we had at present. 

After dinner that night Dr. Feng asked me to go 
with him to his room. 

“I have had some telegrams from China,” he said, 
when he had established me comfortably in an easy 
chair with a whiskey and soda at my hand. 

“Any news about Thelma?” I asked. 

“Yes,” he replied: “it’s a very curious story. Of 
course, I have no details and I am afraid we shall 
never get any. But there is enough information to 
show, as I expected, that the crystal claw was sent 


64 THE CRYSTAL CLAW 

to Mrs. Audley in recognition of services rendered 
by her father to a powerful member of the Thu- 
tseng. Have you ever heard of Sung-tchun?” 

I nodded. “Wasn’t he the chap who escaped 
from Siberia under rather extraordinary circum¬ 
stances in the early years of the war—about 1916 
or 1917? There was a lot about him in the papers, 
I remember, but I never saw any reason given for 
his imprisonment.” 

“No public explanation ever was given,” said Dr. 
Feng, “but, as a matter of fact, he was arrested on 
Russian territory north of China on a trumped-up 
charge. As a matter of fact his party stood in the 
way of certain Russian ambitions in China and he 
was quietly removed. Incidentally I can tell you 
that after his escape the Russian government paid 
very handsome compensation and apologized. But 
all that was kept private. 

“Now the interest to us is this: Sung-tchun’s 
escape was planned and directed, from start to finish, 
by Mrs. Audley’s father. Of course, he was not 
actively engaged in the actual rescue: he could not 
leave his ship. But he organized and financed the 
whole thing. Sung-tchun was a really important 
figure in China—far more important than the out¬ 
side world realized—and to have done them such a 
service would have been ample to earn the undying 
gratitude of the Thu-tseng, who never forget a 


WHISPERS OF WOMEN 


65 

friend or a foe. That is all the information my 
friends can get, and I fancy it is all we shall ever get. 
What Captain Shaylor’s motive was and how he was 
dragged into or embarked upon the affair and where 
he obtained the huge sums of money the rescue must 
have cost, we shall never know.” 

“But why,” I cried, “has the crystal claw only just 
arrived? Thelma’s father died over a year ago.” 

“That is one of the questions I asked,” replied 
Dr. Feng. “Sung-tchun died only last year and I 
imagine he must have kept very closely the secret 
of his escape. In all probability the sending of the 
claw was a kind of death-bed gift from him to the 
man who had helped him—or rather to his daugh¬ 
ter. That would be quite in accordance with Sung- 
tchun’s known character.” 

“Then the crystal claw does not imply a threat or 
any danger?” I exclaimed. 

“Certainly not,” declared Dr. Feng. “It is an 
expression of the very utmost good will. Any mem¬ 
ber of the Thu-tseng would be bound by the most 
solemn obligation to help in every way in his power 
the owner of the crystal claw.” 

“Well,” I said as I rose to say good-night, “at 
any rate, I am glad there is no danger about it. 
But I don’t see how the Thu-tseng can ever help 
Thelma.” 

Old Feng gave me a queer look. “You can never 


66 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


tell,” he said slowly. “Most people want help 
badly at some time in their lives. Mrs. Audley, for 
instance, is in a position of considerable difficulty at 
the moment and may be in a worse one very soon. 
And remember this, my boy—the Thu-tseng has an 
arm longer than you dream of.” 

As the days slipped by I became more and more 
concerned about Thelma. Feng’s antagonism to her¬ 
self and her husband became daily more apparent, 
and I was glad when, the day after old Humphreys 
had departed, he left for London. However, we 
parted good friends. He was going to London first 
and then to the Riviera and he gave me his solicitor’s 
address so that I might write to him. 

Before he left I mentioned to him the effect the 
sight of the crystal claw had had on old Humphreys. 
“Does he know all about the crystal claw?” I asked, 
half banteringly. 

Feng was not even mildly interested. “He spent 
some years in China, I know,” he remarked indiffer¬ 
ently, “but I fancy you must have been mistaken. 
All his interests were in trade and finance—not in 
politics. Probably what you took for an expression 
of rage and fear was the result of the terrible spasms 
of pain that seize him occasionally.” 

The explanation seemed so reasonable that I ac¬ 
cepted it without hesitation. After all, it was ex¬ 
tremely unlikely that old Humphreys could have 


WHISPERS OF WOMEN 


67 

been mixed up with the Thu-tseng and Feng, I 
thought, could hardly have been so unmoved had he 
really thought there was anything in my suspicions. 

But I was to learn months later that the astute 
Chinese had completely hoodwinked me. I had 
made no mistake at all. The information I had 
given him was to prove of supreme importance in 
the game Dr. Feng was playing, so we learned when 
the final move had been played. The man must have 
had nerves of iron. He was off his guard when the 
crystal claw arrived, it is true, but the news—of 
tremendous import, as events showed—that Humph¬ 
rey’s had good reason to fear the Thu-tseng did not 
cause even the quiver of an eyelash. There are few 
things in nature so utterly impassive as the face of 
the cultured Chinese! 

Thelma passed day after day in tense anxiety for 
news of Stanley. To fill time we made frequent ski¬ 
ing excursions to the Schelthorn or the Seeling furen 
but every evening at half-past five we were at the 
little shed-like station, breathlessly awaiting the 
train bringing up travelers from England. 

And each evening we hurried away disappointed. 

In the hotel, on the ski-fields, and on the bob-run 
the fun was fast and furious, but the laughter and 
the dance music jarred upon the nerves of both of 
us. And, to make matters worse, many visitors 


68 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


were beginning to look askance at Thelma, now that 
young Audley did not return. 

Questions were asked of Thelma on all sides, and 
to them she was compelled to give evasive, and 
sometimes, untrue, answers. 

Ten days after young Audley should have re¬ 
turned, I had, late at night, left the ball-room at 
the Kiirhaus opposite the hotel after a couple of 
hours of strenuous drumming in the jazz orchestra. 

Thelma had retired early, and, though in no mood 
for gaiety, I had been compelled to help my brother 
amateur bandsmen. So at two o’clock we had closed 
down and the dancers were all crossing the snowy 
road back to the hotel. 

The moon was shining brilliantly over the tower¬ 
ing glaciers, transforming the silent snow-clad moun¬ 
tains and forests into a veritable fairyland. Such a 
clear, frosty night was inviting for a stroll and many 
couples wrapped in coats had put on their “gouties” 
—or snow-shoes—and were going for walks before 
turning in. 

I turned into the hotel gardens where the trees 
were heavily laden with freshly fallen snow, and 
entered a path where the snow was piled six feet on 
either side. My footsteps fell noiselessly on the 
fresh snow and suddenly I heard voices in the path 
that ran parallel with mine—the voices of a man and 


a woman. 


WHISPERS OF WOMEN 


69 

Instantly I recognized the woman’s voice as 
Thelma’s and I stood in surprise that she should be 
out of doors at such an hour. 

“Now, for the last time I ask you, Thelma, where 
Stanley is,” I heard a man’s voice say. “You had a 
telegram from him today. Where is he? I want 
to see him very urgently.” 

The voice, beyond any possibility of mistake was 
Ruthen’s. Thelma had assured me she disliked him, 
that he pestered her with unwelcome attentions. 
Yet here she was talking to him at two o’clock in 
the morning, three hours after she had said good¬ 
night and, apparently, gone to bed! 

“I tell you it is no business of yours,” came her 
reply in a hard, resolute voice. “He is my husband 
and if he tells me to keep silence I shall do so.” 

“Then you refuse to let me see the wire?” he 
asked. “I arranged ten days ago that I should know 
if you received a telegram. It was delivered to your 
room at five o’clock tonight—and you know where 
Stanley is, though to everybody, including that fool 
Yelverton, you pretend ignorance and shed croco¬ 
dile’s tears!” 

“Oh! let me get back,” cried the girl. “I won’t 
be insulted! Mr. Yelverton does not know the 
truth, but he is at least kind and considerate towards 
me.” 

“And takes Stanley’s place in your heart—eh?” 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


70 

the fellow sneered. “Now, I ask you once again if 
you will tell me where I can find Stanley. Every 
hour is of the greatest importance to both of us. If 
you tell me, then your husband may be saved, after 
all!” 

“Mr. Ruthen, if I could trust you, I would reply. 
But I don’t!” was her plain answer. 

I held my breath as I listened to that strange con¬ 
versation. 

“But surely you know me well enough, Thelma, to 
know that I am acting only in your interest! Yel- 
verton is a very good fellow, but happily he is in 
ignorance, and his devotion to his duty as your 
guardian makes it all the easier for us. Now, don’t 
be a little fool. Where can I get into communica¬ 
tion with Stanley?” he asked. 

“I refuse to tell you!” replied the girl. “I know 
a little more than you think, and I would rather trust 
Stanley than you—even though I have to make pre¬ 
tence of ignorance to Mr. Yelverton.” 

“To fool him, you mean!” laughed the man 
superciliously. 

“Well, and if I have to fool him, it is for my bene¬ 
fit, not yours,” she said defiantly. 

“And suppose I told him all that I know?” said 
Ruthen. “I know that he is your admirer—that 
Stanley ought never to have left you in his charge, 
and—well it is patent to everybody that you are 


WHISPERS OF WOMEN 


7 * 

fonder of Rex Yelverton than of your newly 
married husband.” 

“How dare you say such a thing!” she cried in 
fierce anger. 

“Because it is true, my dear young lady,” was the 
cool reply. “I did not come out here for nothing. 
Stanley has disappeared, and this afternoon you 
had a telegram from him telling you, in secret, of 
his hiding-place. I want to know it!” 

“And I refuse to tell you. He has cut himself 
adrift from you forever.” 

The man laughed jeeringly. 

“That would be more difficult than you imagine,” 
he said. “You are treading upon very dangerous 
ground now, Thelma. Tell me what I want to 
know, and I will help both Stanley and yourself. 
You must know he is in serious danger.” 

“I refuse!” she said. “I will not betray Stanley.” 

“Betray him! It is not a case of betrayal. He is 
already betrayed. It is a matter of saving him.” 

“From what?” 

“You know. Don’t pretend ignorance, my dear 
Thelma! Surely we know each other well enough to 
be friends when Stan’s safety is concerned! He 
doesn’t know I’m here in Murren, or he would have 
wired me his whereabouts, so that I could go straight 
to him,” 


72 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


I listened amazed to this extraordinary conversa¬ 
tion. I had never dreamed that the tall fair-haired 
young man who posed as a stranger to my temporary 
bride, was, after all, an intimate friend of her hus¬ 
band’s. 

“Remember,” he went on. “Yelverton is highly 
inquisitive—and very naturally. He has been bam¬ 
boozled from the very first. I wonder he hasn’t 
smelt a rat long ago. But, of course, he is your ad¬ 
mirer. But we can’t waste time—we’ve been out 
here too long now. Tell me where I can find 
Stanley.” 

“I refuse,” was her firmly repeated reply. 

“In that case I shall act as I have already warned 
you.” 

“I do not intend that you should meet him again. 
I know sufficient concerning your friendship—too 
much indeed,” she said determinedly. “I am not 
blind to the fact that you are my enemy and 
Stanley’s. He has hidden himself from his enemies, 
of whom you are one, and it is not likely I shall tell 
you,” she added. 

“Very well, then—take the consequences. I shall 
tell what I know,” the man said. 

“In which case I shall also tell what I know— 
which, I venture to think you will find a trifle awk¬ 
ward for yourself. So think it over” she said defi¬ 
antly in a low clear voice. “Good-night.” 


WHISPERS OF WOMEN 


73 

Her footsteps were muffled in the soft snow as she 
made her way back to the hotel, alone. Ruthen fol¬ 
lowed a few minutes later: no one would have 
guessed that they had been out together. 

I went to my room more puzzled than ever. 


CHAPTER V 


ESTABLISHES SOME CURIOUS FACTS 

When I met Thelma next morning I noticed that 
she was pale and obviously nervous and ill at ease. I 
longed to question her, but to do so would have been 
to reveal the fact that—unintentionally, it was true 
—I had been eavesdropping. 

It was now plain that the man Ruthen, whom I 
had thought to be a mere hotel acquaintance of Stan¬ 
ley Audley’s, was, in truth, something more, whether 
friend or enemy I was still not quite sure. Thelma’s 
attitude, it was true, suggested the latter, though 
Ruthen had professed friendly motives. His atti¬ 
tude towards her thoroughly incensed me. But I 
realized that there must be some reason, unknown to 
to me, why Thelma never acknowledged him when I 
was present. It was evident too that she hated and 
possibly feared him and that she, at any rate, re¬ 
garded him as her husband’s enemy. 

She made no mention of the telegram from her 
husband that Ruthen had referred to and, as she had 
not denied having received it, I assumed that 
Ruthen’s information was correct. It might have 

74 


ESTABLISHES SOME FACTS 75 

been, of course, a reassuring message, but if this was 
so there was no apparent reason why she should not 
have told me about it and her obvious anxiety and 
nervousness seemed entirely to contradict the sugges¬ 
tion that it could have contained any good news. 

That morning we took our skis up the cable rail¬ 
way to the Allmendhubel, a thousand feet further up 
the mountain side, and thoroughly enjoyed our sport 
on the steep snowy incline above the village. A ski- 
jumping competition had been arranged for the aft¬ 
ernoon and we spent an hour watching the competi¬ 
tors “herring-boning” and “side-stepping” as they 
climbed over the snow up the distant heights in 
readiness for the swift descent ending with the high 
jump that only experts can accomplish. 

Thelma seemed silent and distraite all the morn¬ 
ing. At length I asked her what was troubling her. 

“I really didn’t know I was glum!” she replied. 
“Forgive me, Mr. Yelverton, won’t you? I am aw¬ 
fully worried about Stanley. I really think it is use¬ 
less for me to remain here in Miirren any longer. I 
had better go home to Bexhill.” 

The suggestion seemed to confirm my suspicion 
that she knew her husband’s whereabouts, and felt it 
useless to await any longer for him. 

“My time is growing short, too,” I said. “I fear 
I must be back at my office on Monday. My partner 
writes that he is very busy.” 



7 6 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


“Then you will go on Saturday—the day after 
tomorrow, I suppose? If so—may I travel with 
you?” 

“Certainly,” I said. And as she had not booked a 
sleeping-berth on the Interlaken-Boulogne express, 
I promised that I would see after it during the after¬ 
noon. 

Later that day I found that Audley had left her 
with only about a hundred francs, and she was com¬ 
pelled to allow me to settle her hotel bill. 

As we came up into the hall after dinner the con¬ 
cierge handed Thelma a note, saying—“Mr. Ruthen 
has left, miss, and he asked me to give you this!” 

She held it in her hand for a second, and then, 
after glancing at me, moved away and tore it open. 

The words she read had an extraordinary effect 
upon her. Her face went as white as the paper, and 
she held her breath, her eyes staring straight before 
her. Then she crushed the flimsy paper in her hand. 

She reeled against a small table, and would have 
fallen had she not, with a supreme effort, recovered 
herself, and quickly stood erect again. 

“Forgive me, Mr. Yelverton,” she managed to 
ejaculate. “I’m not feeling very well. Excuse me, 
I—I’ll go to my room!” 

And she turned and ascended the stairs, leaving 
me astonished and mystified. 

What, I wondered, did that farewell note contain. 


ESTABLISHES SOME FACTS 


77 

I saw her no more till next day. She sent me a 
message by the chambermaid to say that she was not 
coming down again and I passed the evening gossip¬ 
ing with Major Burton and two other “bobbing’’ 
enthusiasts. 

By this time I had pretty thoroughly wearied of 
the eternal round of pleasure. Thelma’s obvious 
distress and the extraordinary mystery into which I 
had stumbled occupied all my thoughts and I could 
no longer take the slightest pleasure in the gay life 
which seethed and bubbled around me. It was there¬ 
fore with a feeling of genuine relief that I found 
myself at last in the restaurant car of the Boulogne 
express, slowly leaving Interlaken for the long 
night run across France by way of Delle and Rheims. 
Already we had left behind us the crisp clear air of 
the mountains. The snow everywhere was half 
melted and slushy and the train pushed its way on¬ 
ward through a dense curtain of driving sleet. 

We ate our dinner amid a gay crowd of holiday 
makers returning, not only from Miirren but from 
Grindelwald, Wengen, Adelboden, Kandersteg, and 
other winter sports centres. The talk was gay and 
animated, merry laughter resounded through the 
long car. Yet Thelma sat pale, silent and nervous 
and her tired eyes told their own tale of sleeplessness 
and anxiety. She gave me the impression that she 
had been crushed by some sudden and unexpected 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


78 

shock and though more than once I fancied she was 
on the edge of confiding in me, she remained almost 
dumb and was clearly disinclined to talk. 

We arrived at Victoria on Sunday afternoon and 
I drove with her in a taxi to Charing Cross. On the 
way she suddenly seized my hand and looking 
straight into my eyes said— 

“I really do not know how to thank you, Mr. Yel- 
verton, for all your great kindness towards me. I 
know I have been a source of great worry to you— 
but—but—” she burst into tears without concluding 
the sentence. 

I drew her towards me and strove to comfort her, 
declaring that I would continue to act as her friend 
and leave no stone unturned in my efforts to trace 
Stanley. 

At last, as we went down the Mall, she dried her 
eyes and became more tranquil. We were approach¬ 
ing the terminus whence she was to travel to Bexhill. 

“Now—tell me truthfully,” I said to her at last, 
“do you, or do you not, know where Stanley is?” 

She started, her lips parted, and she held her 
breath. 

“I—I deceived you once, Mr. Yelverton. I—I 
did once know where he was. But I do not now.” 

“Then you wish me to discover him?” I asked. 

“Yes. But—but, I fear you will never succeed. 
He can never return to me— never!” 


ESTABLISHES SOME FACTS 79 

“Never return to you? Why? Was he already 
married?” I gasped. 

“No. Not that. Not that! I love Stanley, but 
he can never come back to me.” 

The taxi had stopped, and a porter had already 
opened the door. I asked her to explain, but she 
only shook her head in silence. 

Ten minutes later, I grasped her hand in farewell, 
and she waved to me as the train moved off to the 
pleasant little south-coast resort where her mother 
was living. Thelma Audley’s was surely a sad 
home-going. 

Back in my rooms high-up in gray and smoky 
Russell Square, I found old Mrs. Chapman, with her 
pleasant face and white hair, had prepared every¬ 
thing for my comfort. The night was cold and 
rainy, and the London atmosphere altogether de¬ 
pressing and unpleasant after that bright crisp 
climate of the high Alps. 

I looked through a number of letters which had 
not been sent on and, after a wash, ate my dinner, 
Mrs. Chapman standing near and gossiping with me 
the while. My room was warm and cozy, and with 
the familiar old silhouettes and caricatures upon its 
walls, the sideboard with some of the Georgian 
plate belonging to my grandfather, and a blazing 
fire, had that air of homelike comfort, which is al¬ 
ways refreshing after hotel life. 


8o 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


After I had had my coffee, and my trusted old 
servant had disappeared, I threw myself into my big 
arm chair to think over the amazing tangle in which 
I had allowed myself to become involved. 

Was I falling in love with Thelma—falling in 
love foolishly and hopelessly with a girl who was 
already married? I tried hard to persuade myself 
that my feeling towards her was nothing but a deep 
and honest affection, born of her sweet disposition 
and the queer circumstances that had thrown us to¬ 
gether. Stanley Audley, whatever the explanation 
of his amazing conduct might be, had trusted me 
and I fought hard in my own mind against a tempta¬ 
tion which I realized would, in normal circumstances, 
be a gross betrayal of confidence. I had been 
brought up in a public school where “to play the 
game” was the one rule of conduct that mattered 
and hitherto I had prided myself on my punctilious¬ 
ness in all the ordinary matters of life. Was I to 
fail utterly in the first great temptation that life had 
brought me? 

I could not disguise from myself, try how I would, 
that even an honest admiration for Thelma had its 
perils. As Dr. Feng had said, it was dangerous. 
We were both young. I had hitherto escaped heart- 
whole, Thelma was not only more than ordinarily 
beautiful but she possessed a degree of charm and 


ESTABLISHES SOME FACTS 81 

fascination—for me, at any rate—that was well- 
nigh irresistible. 

For a long time I paced my room in indecision. 
To act as Dr. Feng had suggested would be to break 
off our acquaintanceship, treating it merely as the 
passing incident of a pleasant holiday. But that, I 
argued, was impossible. I had promised Audley to 
look after his wife when everything seemed plain 
and straightforward: to desert her now when she 
was clearly in difficulty and distress was unthinkable. 
Yet to go on might—probably would—spell utter 
disaster to my peace of mind, and make shipwreck 
of my honor. 

Hour after hour passed and I seemed to draw no 
nearer to a conclusion. But at length the glimmer¬ 
ings of a solution of the problem began to draw in 
my mind. If I could but find Stanley Audley I could 
cut myself adrift from the mystery and try to forget 
Thelma as speedily as possible. This I determined 
honestly to try to do, and I think I felt better and 
happier for the resolution. What I failed to realize 
was the strength of the feelings that had me in their 
grip. And ever and anon, like an inducement of 
hope, came the resolution of Thelma’s declaration 
that Stanley could never return to her. In that case 
—but I resolutely tried to push away from me the 
thoughts that crowded into my mind. 

Next day, after spending a couple of hours at 


82 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


Bedford Row with my partner, Hensman, I set out 
on my first inquiry regarding Stanley Audley. 

I took a taxi to the house in Half Moon Street in 
which he had lived, and there saw Mr. Belton, the 
proprietor. 

He was a tall, bald-headed man in grey trousers 
and morning coat and nothing could disguise the fact 
that he was a retired butler. “Yes, sir,” he said in 
reply to my inquiry, “Mr. Stanley Audley lived here 
for nearly two years. But he went abroad a short 
time ago, as I wired to you, sir.” 

“Well, the fact is, Mr. Belton, he’s disappeared,” 
I said. 

“Disappeared!” echoed the ex-butler. 

“Yes, I wonder if I may glance at his rooms.” 

“Certainly, sir. But they are let again. Colonel 
Mayhew is out, so we can go up. Mr. Audley sent 
all his things to store when he left, but I was away 
at the time, so I don’t know where they went to.” 
He took me to a well-furnished front sitting-room 
on the first floor. 

“Do you recollect that he had a lady visitor—a 
tall, handsome, dark-eyed young lady, whose name 
was Shaylor?” 

“Certainly, sir. A young lady came once or twice 
to tea, but I don’t know her name. And—well to 
tell you the truth, sir, his movements were often 
very curious.” 


ESTABLISHES SOME FACTS 83 

‘‘How?” I asked, with sudden interest. 

“Well, he would walk out without any luggage 
sometimes, and then a week later I would hear from 
him telling me to send on his letters to some Poste 
Restante abroad. Once it was in Paris, another 
time at Geneva and twice in Madrid. It always 
struck me as very curious that he traveled without 
any luggage—or if he had any, he never brought it 
here.” 

“Curious,” I said. “Then he was a bit of a 
mystery?” 

“He was, sir. That’s his photograph there, on 
the mantleshelf,” and he pointed to a photograph in 
a small oval ebony frame. 

To my amazement it was the picture of a man I 
had never seen in my life. 

“But that round-faced man isn’t Stanley Audley!” 
I exclaimed. 

“Excuse me, sir, but it is,” was the ex-butler’s 
polite assertion. “He lived here nearly two years.” 

“He is not the Stanley Audley for whom I am 
searching, at any rate,” I said. 

“Well, he is the only Mr. Audley that my wife 
and I have had here.” 

Suddenly I recollected that in my wallet I had a 
snap-shot of Thelma on her skis which I had taken 
up on the Allmendhubel. I drew it out and shewed 
it to him. 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


$4 

“Ah! sir, that’s not the young lady who visited 
Mr. Audley. That’s a young lady who came twice, 
or perhaps three times to see Mr. Graydon.” 

“What is Mr. Graydon like?” I asked eagerly. 

In reply he gave me a very accurate description of 
Thelma’s husband. 

“Who, and what is Mr. Graydon?” I asked. 
“Tell me, Mr. Belton, for much depends upon the 
result of this inquiry.” 

“He’s a young gentleman very well connected— 
nephew of a certain earl, I believe. He had the 
rooms above for about nine months, and was very 
friendly with Mr. Audley.” 

“And did he make mysterious journeys?” 

“Yes, sometimes—but not very often.” 

“Had he any profession?” I inquired. 

“No. I understand that his father, who was a 
landowner in Cheshire, left him with a very comfort¬ 
able income. My wife and I liked him, for he was a 
quiet, rather studious young fellow, though often at 
Mr. Audley’s invitation he went out of an evening 
and did not return till the early hours. But nowa¬ 
days with those dance clubs going, most young men 
do that.” 

“Well, Mr. Belton, may I see Mr. Graydon’s 
room?” I asked. In response, he took me up to the 
next floor, where the sitting room and bedroom were 


ESTABLISHES SOME FACTS 85 

even cosier and better furnished than the rooms be¬ 
low. 

“Mr. Graydon, when he left, laughingly said that 
he might be married soon, but if he didn’t marry he’d 
come back to us. He told my wife that he was going 
on a yachting trip to Norway with some friends, and 
afterwards he had to go to Montreal to visit some 
relatives.” 

“But the curious fact is that the man I knew as 
Audley is none other than the man you know as 
Graydon!” I said. 

“That’s certainly very mysterious, sir. Mr. Gray¬ 
don must have assumed Mr. Audley’s name,” Belton 
said. 

“The whole affair is a complete mystery,” I re¬ 
marked. “I wish you’d tell me more that you know 
concerning this Mr. Graydon. What was his 
Christian name, by the way? And when did you 
last see him?” 

“Philip. He left us last September.” 

“And the young lady who came to see him?” 

“Oh! She was certainly a lady. Indeed, I rather 
fancied that I had seen her several years ago, and 
that with her mother she once came as guest of old 
Lady Wentbrook, in whose service I was. But I 
was not quite sure, and I could not, of course, in¬ 
quire. At any rate, she was a lady, of that there 
could be no mistake.” 


86 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


“And Mr. Graydon was a gentleman ?” 

“Certainly, sir. But I can’t vouch for Mr. Aud¬ 
ley. They were friends—and that’s all I know.” 

“You had certain suspicions about Audley, and 
were not sorry when he gave up his rooms?” 

“Yes, sir, you’re quite right, I was.” 

“And how about Graydon?” 

“We were very sorry when he left, sir. My wife 
like him immensely. But she always said that he was 
somehow under the influence of Mr. Audley.” 

“Did you ever meet a Mr. Harold Ruthen?” I 
asked. 

And from my wallet I took another snap-shot 
which showed him with a party of skaters on the 
rink. 

The ex-butler scrutinized it closely and replied: 

“Yes. He’s been here. He was a friend of Mr. 
Audley’s. But I don’t think that was his name. I 
believe he was called Rutley, or some such name?” 

“Did Mr. Graydon know him?” 

“No, sir. Not to my knowledge. He came here 
once and stayed with Mr. Audley while Mr. Gray¬ 
don was up in Scotland shooting. But we’ll go down 
below and show the photograph to my wife. She 
has a better memory than I have.” 

So we went into the basement, where I had a long 
conversation with Mrs. Belton, a typical retired 
servant of the better class, shrewd and observant. 


ESTABLISHES SOME FACTS 87 

That conversation definitely established several 
amazing facts which served to make the mystery of 
Stanley Audley deeper and more sinister than ever. 
It was clear— 

(1) That Philip Graydon had, for some 
reason we could not fathom, taken the 
name of Stanley Audley, while Audley 
had passed as Graydon. 

(2) That the movements of the two men 
were uncertain and mysterious. 

(3) That Harold Ruthen, also known as 
Rutley, was associated with both Stan¬ 
ley Audley and the man Philip Gray¬ 
don. 

(4) That Thelma had married the man 
who, passing as Philip Graydon, was 
really Stanley Audley! 

After that amazing revelation I passed along 
Half Moon Street, in the winter darkness, to Picca¬ 
dilly in a state of utter bewilderment. 


CHAPTER VI 


THE HAM-BONE CLUB 

A few days later a client of ours named Powell 
for whom we were conducting a piece of rather in¬ 
tricate business concerning a mortgage of some land 
in Essex, invited me to join himself and his wife at 
dinner at the Savoy. 

Our table was in a corner near the orchestra and 
the big restaurant was crowded. Sovrani, the fa¬ 
mous maitre d’hotel knew all three of us well and we 
dined excellently under his tactful supervision. 
After dinner Mrs. Powell, a pretty young woman, 
exquisitely gowned, suggested a dance in the room 
below. We went there and danced until about half¬ 
past ten when Powell said: 

“Let’s go to the Ham-bone.” 

“The Ham-bone,” I echoed. “What on earth is 
that?” 

“Oh!” laughed Mrs. Powell, “it is one of Lon¬ 
don’s merriest Bohemian dance clubs. The male 
members are all artists, sculptors or literary men, 
and the female members are all girls who earn their 
own living—mannequins, secretaries, artists’ models 
and girl journalists. It is screamingly amusing. 

88 


THE HAM-BONE CLUB 89 

Quite Bohemian and yet high select, isn’t it, Harry?” 

“I’ve never heard of it,” I said. 

“Well, one gets a really splendid dinner there for 
half-a-crown, though, of course, you get paper servi¬ 
ettes, and for supper after the hours, you men can 
have a kipper—a brand that is extra special—and a 
drink with it,” she went on. 

“Yes, Leila,” laughed her husband. “The place 
is unique. Half the people in ‘smart’ society, men 
as well as women, want to become members, but the 
Committee, who are all well-known artists, don’t 
want the man about town: they only want the real 
hardworking Bohemians who go there at night for 
relaxation. Burlac, the sculptor, put me up.” 

The novelty of the idea attracted me, so we went 
in a taxicab to an uninviting looking mews off Great 
Windmill Street, behind the Cafe Monico in Picca¬ 
dilly Circus. Walking up it, we passed through a 
narrow swing-door, over which hung a dim feeble 
light and a big ham-bone! 

Up a precipitous flight of narrow stone steps we 
went until we reached a little door where a stout ex¬ 
sergeant of police smiled recognition upon my host, 
placed a book before him to sign and relieved us of 
our coats. 

In a room above a piano was being played by some 
one who was evidently an artist and dancing was in 
progress. 


9 o 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


The place might have been a cabaret in the 
Montmartre in Paris. I thought I knew London’s 
night clubs fairly well—the Embassy, Ciro’s, the 
Grafton, the Mayfair, the Royalty, the Twenty, 
Murray’s, Tate’s, the Trippers, the Dainty, and 
others—but when I entered the big whitewashed 
dancing room I found myself looking on a scene that 
was a complete novelty to me. 

The room was long and narrow. The walls were 
painted in stripes representing oaken beams and set 
around them were many small tables. The floor was 
filled with merry dancers, among whom I recognized 
many people well known in artistic and social circles. 
Some of the men wore dinner jackets and many of 
the women were in beautiful evening dress, but smart 
clothes evidently were regarded as a non-essential, 
for a large proportion of the men wore ordinary 
lounge suits. 

As we stood watching the scene a tall, elderly man 
rose from a table and cried: 

“Hulloa ! Leila! What a stranger you are!” 

My hostess smiled and waved recognition, where¬ 
upon her friend—a portrait painter whose reputa¬ 
tion was world-wide, bowed over her hand and said: 

“Well, only fancy! It is really delightful that you 
should return to us! We thought we’d lost you 
after you married!” 

“My dear Charlie,” she laughed—for it was a 


THE HAM-BONE CLUB 


9i 

rule in the Ham-bone that every member addressed 
every one else by his or her Christian name, and 
“Charlie” was a Royal Academician—“I am an old 
Hamyardian: I was one of the first lady members.” 

“Of course. You’ll find Marigold here. I’ve just 
been chatting with her. She’s round the corner, over 
yonder. But she’s funny. What’s the matter with 
her? Do you know?” he added in a low, serious 
voice. 

“No, I didn’t know there was anything wrong,” 
replied my hostess. 

It was easy to realize that here in this stable con¬ 
verted into a club was an atmosphere and and en¬ 
vironment without its like in London or elsewhere. 
The denizens of that little circle of Bohemia cared 
for absolutely nothing and nobody outside its own 
careless world whose boundaries were Chelsea and 
the Savoy Club. 

Ordinary social distinctions were utterly and com¬ 
pletely ignored. Gaiety was supreme and in the 
merry throng I caught sight within a few minutes of 
a well-known London magistrate before whom I had 
often pleaded as a Solicitor, a famous scientist, the 
millionaire owner of a great daily paper. Several 
leading members of the Chancery Bar, an under¬ 
secretary of State and quite a sprinkling of young 
scions of patrician families. 

They were men and women of the intellectual type 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


92 

who cared nothing for the vicious joys of the ordi¬ 
nary night club. They came in frank enjoyment of 
dancing and music and the fried kippers, as custom 
decreed, in order to comply with the kill-joy law that 
ordained that they must eat if they wanted a drink! 
Everything, apparently, was free and easy gaiety. 
Yet it was at least as difficult to become a member 
of the Ham-bone as to gain admission to any of the 
most exclusive clubs along Pall Mall. Money was 
no sort of passport: only personality, ability or the 
true inborn spirit of Bohemianism could open the 
portals of the Ham-bone. 

The “master of ceremonies” was a well-known 
landscape painter, whom every one addressed as 
“George,” a smart figure in the brown velvet jacket 
of his profession. He chaffed and joked with every 
one in French, revealing a side of his nature certainly 
unsuspected by the general public to whom he usually 
presented a grave and austere front. But this was 
the key-note of the Ham-bone: every one seemed to 
“let himself go” and the stilted social etiquette of 
our ordinary world seemed as far off as if we had 
been in Limehouse or Poplar. 

I was dancing with Mrs. Powell, when, suddenly, 
she halted before a small table in a corner where 
there sat alone a beautiful dark-haired girl in a 
smartly cut dance-frock of black charmeuse. 

“Mr. Yelverton,” she said, “will you let me in- 


THE HAM-BONE CLUB 


93 

troduce you to my dearest friend, Marigold Day?” 
And to the girl she said, “Marigold, this is Mr. Rex 
Yelverton, the gentleman of whom I recently spoke 
to you.” 

Somberly dressed, her white neck and bare arms 
in vivid contrast with her dead-black frock, she 
was almost wickedly beautiful. Her well-dressed 
hair, across which she wore a bandeau of golden 
leaves, was dark; her scarlet mouth was like the 
curling underleaves of a rose, her lips with the true 
arc-de-cupidon so seldom seen, were slightly apart, 
and between them showed strong white teeth. Her 
eyes were large and deeply violet and they held a 
fascination such as I had seldom before seen. 

“We’ll be back presently,” said Mrs. Powell, as 
we slipped again into the dance. “I want to have a 
chat with you.” 

“Who’s that?” I asked, as soon as we were a few 
feet away. 

“Oh, that’s Marigold. We are fellow-members 
here. She was in business with me before I married. 
Isn’t she very good-looking, don’t you think?” 

“Beautiful,” I declared. 

“Ah, I see,” laughed my partner. “You are like 
all the other men. They all admire her, and want 
to dance with her. But Marigold is a queer girl: I 
can never make her out in these days. Once she was 
very bright and merry, and always gadding about 


94 THE CRYSTAL CLAW 

somewhere with a man named Audley. Now there s 
a kink somewhere. She accepts no invitations, keeps 
herself to herself, and only on rare occasions comes 
here just to look on. A great change has come over 
her. Why, I can’t make out. We were the closest 
of friends before I married, so I’ve asked her the 
reason of it all, but she will tell me absolutely 
nothing.” 

“Audley,” I gasped. “Where is she at business?” 

“At Carille’s, the dressmakers in Dover Street. 
She’s a mannequin, and I was a typist there,” she 
replied. “And now Mr. Yelverton, you know what 
was my business before I married,” she added, with 
a laugh. 

“Pretty boring, I should say, showing off dresses 
to a pack of unappreciative old cats,” was my 
remark. 

“Boring isn’t the word for it,” Mrs. Powell de¬ 
clared, “I couldn’t have stood her work. You 
should see our clients—uneducated, fat, coarse, war- 
rich old hags who look Marigold up and down, and 
fancy they will appear as smart as she does in one 
of Monsieur Carille’s latest creations. How Mari¬ 
gold sticks at it so long I can’t make out. She ought 
to be awarded the prize medal for patience. I could 
never amble about over that horrid grey carpet and 
place my neck, my elbows and hands at absurd angles 


HE HAM-BONE CLUB 


95 

for the benefit of those ugly old tabbies—no matter 
what salary I was paid!” 

At that moment we found ourselves before the 
table where her husband was seated, smoking and 
drinking coffee with Sava, the young Serbian who 
was perhaps the greatest modern caricaturist. 

Belgravia is good; Bohemia is better; the com¬ 
bination of both is surely Paradise! Sava’s con¬ 
versation was as perfect as his caricatures: he had 
seen life in every capital in Europe and was a bom 
raconteur. For a time he held us engrossed with 
his witty comments on the men and matters of half- 
a-dozen countries, all of which he knew to per¬ 
fection. 

Never have I seen so truly fraternal a circle as 
that little backwater of Bohemianism. Every one 
was at his ease: there was no such a thing as being a 
Stranger there. The fact that you were there—that 
some member had introduced you and vouched for 
you—broke down all barriers and men who had 
never before met and might never meet again met 
and chatted as freely as if they were old friends and 
with an utter disregard of all the vexing problems of 
wealth, rank, profession and precedence. 

Presently my hostess took me back to the manne¬ 
quin in black whom I new realized must be wearing 
a copy of one of the famous man-dressmaker’s latest 
creations. 


9 6 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


“Mr. Yelverton wants a partner, Marigold” my 
companion exclaimed gaily, whereupon her friend 
smiled and rising at once, joined me in a fox-trot 
with an expression of pleasure upon her face. She 
was a splendid dancer. 

“Mrs. Powell has told me of your acquaintance 
with Mr. Audley,” I said, after a few minutes of 
the usual ballroom chat. “I wonder if it is the same 
man I know. He used to live in Half Moon Street.” 

She clearly resented the question. “Why do you 
ask?” she demanded. 

“Because I’ve lost sight of my friend of late,” I 
replied. 

“Well, Mr. Audley did live in Half Moon Street, 
but he has gone away,” she replied. And I thought I 
detected a hint of tragedy upon her face. 


CHAPTER VII 


IN THE WEB 

As WE danced Marigold told me something more 
about herself. She lived, I found, with three other 
business girls at a boarding house in Bayswater, go¬ 
ing by tube to Dover Street each day. She had met 
Audley and for a time they had been rather friendly, 
seeing a good deal of each other. I guessed, though 
of course she did not tell me, that the friendship 
bade fair to ripen into something deeper. Then Aud¬ 
ley had suddenly disappeared. 

As our dance ended Mrs. Powell came up and we 
all went up the narrow wooden staircase to the bal¬ 
cony where, as we enjoyed our Bohemian supper, we 
could watch the dancing below. 

It was just before midnight, when the fun was 
fast and furious and the “Hamyardians,” as the 
merry circle call themselves, were enjoying them¬ 
selves in the wildest and most nonsensical fashion, 
that Marigold Day, glancing at her wrist watch, de¬ 
clared that she must go. I went down with her to 
the door. 


97 


98 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


“Can’t you tell me some more about Audley?” I 
asked just before she entered her taxi. 

She shook her head. “Don’t ask me, please,” she 
said and she entered the taxi and was driven away 
towards Bayswater. 

“Well, what do you think of Marigold?” asked 
Mrs. Powell, as I resumed my seat at the supper 
table. 

“She’s altogether charming, of course,” I replied, 
“but rather—well, I don’t quite know the word. I 
should almost say mysterious: at any rate she seems 
to be troubled about something and trying to hide 
it.” 

“That’s it, exactly,” declared my hostess. “During 
the past few months she seems to have become an 
entirely different girl. As you know, we were the 
closest of friends. She seems to live in constant 
dread of something, but she absolutely refuses to 
tell me what it is. Indeed, she declares there is 
nothing wrong, but that is nonsense. No one who 
know her six months ago could fail to realize that 
something is very wrong indeed.” 

“Do you know anything about her friend, Mr. 
Audley,” I ventured to ask. 

“Not very much,” said Mrs. Powell. “Of course, 
I have met him. Marigold was getting very fond of 
him, I believe, but she will not talk about him.” 

Powell came up and declared it was time to go and 


IN THE WEB 


99 

I had no opportunity of question Mrs. Powell any 
further, much as I wished to do so. However, I de¬ 
termined to see her again and also to meet Mari¬ 
gold Day and see whether either of them could give 
me further details about Audley. Was he the real 
Audley? I wondered, or the man who had taken his 
name. 

A few days later I received a letter from Mrs. 
Shaylor inviting me to go to Bexhill. 

I was in two minds about accepting. I wanted to 
see Thelma—wanted to help her and certainly did 
not want to lose touch with her as I might if I re¬ 
fused to go. But was it wise? 

Of course, inclination conquered prudence and I 
went. I found that she and her mother lived in a 
pretty red-roofed, red brick detached house, with 
high gables, and a small garden in front. It stood 
in Bedford Avenue, close to the Sackville Hotel and 
facing the sea. 

Mrs. Shaylor, a pleasant, grey haired woman of a 
very refined type, greeted me warmly and thanked 
me cordially for what I had done for her daughter 
in Miirren, while Thelma expressed her delight at 
seeing me again. 

I got a chance during the morning of speaking to 
Mrs. Shaylor alone and asked her if Thelma had 
heard anything more of her husband. 

“Not a word,” was Mrs. Shaylor’s reply. “It is a 


100 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


most disastrous affair for her, poor girl. The sus¬ 
pense and anxiety are killing her.” 

“She does not look so well,” I replied. I had, in 
fact, been struck by the change in the girl. She was 
paler and thinner and it was evident the strain was 
telling on her rather heavily. 

“I understand you did not know very much of 
Mr. Audley,” I said. 

“Very little indeed, unfortunately” was Mrs. 
Shaylor’s reply. “Thelma met him when she was 
staying with her aunt at the Majestic at Harrogate, 
and they became friendly. He appeared to have 
considerable means for he gave Thelma some very 
beautiful jewelry. He came down here once, saw 
me, and asked if he might marry her. He told me 
certain things about his relations in India, and she 
seemed so entirely devoted to him that I gave my 
consent to their marriage in three months. But, 
judge my surprise when a fortnight later they were 
married secretly and left next day for Switzerland 
for their honeymoon.” 

“Then you really know very little of him, Mrs. 
Shaylor?” I asked. 

“Very little indeed. It was a most foolish and 
ill-advised marriage. He seems to have lied to her 
here and then deserted her.” 

“I must say I liked what I saw of him,” I said, 
“and I wonder whether we are right in thinking that 


IN THE WEB 


IOI 


he really deserted her in the ordinary meaning of 
the word. It looks like it, of course, but it has oc¬ 
curred to me, though I have only very slight grounds 
to go on, that he is being kept away from her by 
some influence at which we cannot guess. He really 
seemed devoted to her and genuinely sorry to have 
to leave her.” 

“Well, she certainly seems devoted to him and 
will not hear a word against him. But what can one 
think under the circumstances?” 

The drawing room opened on to a wide verandah 
and across the promenade we could see the rolling 
Channel surf beating upon the beach. The winter’s 
day was dull and boisterous and now and again 
sheets of flying spray swept across the promenade. 

“He pretended to me that he was an electrical 
engineer,” I remarked, “but I have found out that 
the firm for whom he said he worked knows nothing 
of him.” 

“That is what he also told me. But I have reason 
to believe that he is in fact a young man of consider¬ 
able fortune. Yet, if so, why has he deserted poor 
Thelma ?” 

“I am doing my level best to find him, Mrs. Shay- 
lor,” I said. “Some very great mystery enshrouds 
this affair, and I have, in your daughter’s interest, 
set myself to solve it.” 

“I’m sure all this is extremely good of you,” she 


102 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


said, gratefully. “We are only women, and both of 
us powerless.’’ 

I paused for a moment. Then I said: 

“I really came down here, Mrs. Shaylor, to put 
several direct questions to you. I wonder if you will 
answer them and thus lighten my task. I am a solici¬ 
tor, as perhaps you already know.” 

“Certainly. What are they ?” 

“Has your daughter ever known a man named 
Harold Ruthen?” 

The lady’s face changed, and her brows con¬ 
tracted slightly. “Why do you ask that?” she 
asked. 

“Because it has a direct bearing upon the present 
situation.” 

“Well—yes. I believe she has, or had, a friend 
of that name. A man who lives in Paris.” 

“Was he a friend of Audley’s?” 

“Not to my knowledge.” 

“Have you ever heard of a girl named Marigold 
Day—a mannequin at Carille’s?” 

“Never.” 

I paused. Then I bent towards her and said, 
very earnestly, “Has it ever struck you, Mrs. Shay¬ 
lor, that your daughter knows just a little more con¬ 
cerning Stanley Audley than she has yet told us?” 

“Why do you ask that question?” she inquired. 

“Well—because somehow it has struck me so,” I 


IN THE WEB 103 

said. “And I will go a little further. I believe she 
knows where her husband is, but—for some reason 
or other—fears to betray him 1” 

“Is that your suspicion ?” she asked, in a low 
strained voice. 

“Yes,” I replied. 

“Mr. Yelverton,” she said very slowly. “I admit 
that it is mine also! Eve questioned Thelma time 
after time, but she will tell me nothing—absolutely 
nothing!” 

“Are there any more facts you can tell me—any¬ 
thing to throw further light upon these strange cir¬ 
cumstances?” I asked her. 

“No,” was her reply. “I’m afraid I know noth¬ 
ing else. Thelma is worried. I feel terrified lest 
the real truth—whatever it may be—concerning her 
husband, be disclosed.” 

Thelma came in and we talked of other matters. 
She made great fun of my position as her “tempor¬ 
ary husband” at Miirren and seemed in better spirits 
than when I came down. 

After luncheon we went for a stroll together 
through the driving health-giving breeze to Cooden 
Beach, and then back for tea. Thelma wore a 
serviceable golf suit, thick brogues and carried a 
stick, while her Airdale “Jock” ran at our side. 

On the way I told her of my adventure at the 
Ham-bone Club. She was much interested in the 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


104 

queer pranks of the Hamyardians and to find out 
how much she knew, I told her about Marigold Day: 
in fact I deliberately “enthused” about her. I 
watched her closely, but it was evident Marigold’s 
name meant nothing to her. Then I went on the 
more open tack and tried to get some further facts 
from her. It was in vain: she seemed as determined 
to keep her knowledge to herself as I was to get at 
the truth. 

At last, as we neared the house, I made a direct 
attack. 

“Now look here, Thelma,” I said, “do be frank. 
You know where Stanley is, don’t you?” 

She went pale: it was evident that it had never 
struck her that I might guess at the truth. 

“Why do you say that?” she asked sharply. 

“Because I am certain Stanley has enemies and 
wants help.” 

“Enemies!” she said, with an attempt to laugh 
“why should he have enemies? What do you 
mean?” 

“All that I have said. Cannot you trust me? If 
your husband is in hiding for some unknown reason 
I should not betray him.” 

“I have promised to say nothing,” she said 
blankly. “I cannot break my promise.” 

“Why does he not return to you?” 


IN THE WEB 


105 

“There is a reason—he never can. We must live 
apart in future.” 

“Why?” 

She shrugged her shoulders, and after a few mo¬ 
ments of hesitation replied— 

“There are certain facts, Mr. Yelverton, that I 
am forbidden by Stanley to disclose. I have told you 
that we cannot be united again. That is all. Please 
make no further inquiries.” 

“But I will. You have been left in my care,” I 
asserted. 

“If you do!—if you do it—it may be at your 
peril, she declared, in a hard unnatural voice, look¬ 
ing curiously at me as she opened the gate. “Recol¬ 
lect, Mr. Yelverton, that my words are a warning.” 

“But why?” I cried. 

“I—I unfortunately cannot tell you,” was her 
reply, and we re-entered her charming home to¬ 
gether. 

I returned to London more mystified than ever. 
The dual personality of Stanley Audley, combined 
with the fact that his wife undoubtedly knew of his 
whereabouts; her steadfast determination not to 
disclose one single fact, and the strange threats I 
had heard Ruthen utter, all combined to puzzle me 
beyond measure. 

For a couple of days I did my best to attend to 
business, but constantly I found my mind dwelling 


106 THE CRYSTAL CLAW 

on the mystery of Stanley Audley. I could not con¬ 
centrate on legal problems and most of my work 
fell on Hensman’s shoulders. 

On the third night, after my visit to Bexhill, when 
I returned to my rooms from the office, I found, 
lying upon my table, a typewritten note which had 
been delivered that afternoon. It bore the Ham¬ 
mersmith postmark. 

Tearing it open I read some lines of rather in¬ 
different typing, as follows: — 

“You have formed a friendship with Mrs. Thelma 
Audley. I warn you that such friendship, if continued, will 
be at the cost of your own life. Divert your love-making 
into another direction. I have no personal animosity against 
you but you are placing yourself in the way of powerful 
interests, and you will be removed if necessary.” 

I read and re-read this strange message. Thel¬ 
ma’s warning leaped to my mind. Was there, then, 
a real risk to myself in the strange coil? 

Then something—sheer obstinacy I suppose— 
came to my help and I declared to myself that I 
would go ahead with my self-imposed task; that 
nothing—least of all mere cowardice—should in¬ 
duce me to give it up. 


CHAPTER VIII 

DOCTOR FENG'S VIEW 

I AM not going to deny that at first that strange 
warning perturbed me a good deal. After all, I 
make no claim to be a hero and not even a hero 
likes threats of death, even though they be anony¬ 
mous. At the same time, I never proposed, even 
in thought, to give up my quest. For, whether I 
wished it or not, I could not shake myself free of 
Thelma’s influence: my day-dreams were themselves 
on the fancy that some day, in some way, she would 
be free. More and more I began to think that 
she had married Audley so suddenly under an over¬ 
whelming girlish impulse; perhaps her mind had 
been made up by some story he had told her to 
justify haste and secrecy. If this were really so, 
would her love survive desertion and a separation 
which she herself apparently regarded as perma¬ 
nent? It would be strange, indeed, if it did. 

So, through the dark March days that followed, 
I worked at the office half the day, while the re¬ 
mainder I devoted to seeking traces of the mysteri- 
107 


io8 THE CRYSTAL CLAW 

ous young man who had lived in Half Moon Street 
under the name of Graydon. 

Mrs. Powell and her husband had been suddenly 
called abroad. But Marigold Day was an obvious 
source of possible information and to make fur¬ 
ther inquiry of her I wrote asking her to dine with 
me one evening at the Cecil. 

She accepted, and we ate our dinner at one of 
the tables set in the window of the big grill-room 
overlooking the Embankment. She again wore her 
plain black dress which enhanced the whiteness of 
her arms and shoulders and laughed merrily at 
me across the table as we chatted over dinner. 

I hesitated to refer to Audley directly after the 
conversation of our previous meeting, but I asked 
her suddenly whether she happened to know a man 
named Harold Ruthen. 

“Harold Ruthen?” she echoed, “Yes, but why 
do you ask?” 

“Because he was a friend of Audley’s,” was my 
reply. Do you happen to know him?” 

“Certainly. I saw him only a few days ago. 
He’s looking for Audley—he believes he is in 
Paris.” 

“Now, I wonder if the Mr. Audley you know 
is the same man as my friend. Will you describe 
him?” 


DOCTOR FENG’S VIEW 


109 

She did so, and the description made it clear that 
he was indeed Thelma’s husband. 

“Yes,” I said. “He is no doubt the same.” 

“He was well-known at the Ham-bone, where 
every one called him Stanley,” she said. “But I 
can’t think why he disappeared and has never writ¬ 
ten to me. A girl told me that he’d married. But 
I don’t believe it.” 

“Why not?” 

“For the simple reason that he had asked me 
to marry him,” was the startling reply. 

“Was Ruthen on very friendly terms with him?” 

“Yes. But Stanley did not like him. He used 
to tell me that Ruthen was not straight, and I 
know he avoided him whenever he could. I sup¬ 
pose we all hate most those we fear most.” 

“Why do you say that?” I asked in some sur¬ 
prise at her philosophy. 

“Well,” she said, “I always had a suspicion that 
Stanley went in fear of Ruthen. Why, I don’t 
know.” 

“That’s curious. What made you think so?” 

“From certain remarks he once let drop.” 

“Then Audley may be hiding purposely from 
that fellow?” I exclaimed, as I recollected that queer 
conversation between Ruthen and Thelma. 

“I have thought that possible, but even then, he 


110 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


could easily write to me in confidence, and tell me 
where he is,” said the girl. 

“Where does Ruthen live?” I enquired. 

“In Whitehall Court,” and she gave me the 
number. 

“You have no idea what his profession may be?” 

“Like Stanley—he is independent.” 

“Audley is a rich man, isn’t he?” I asked. 

“No doubt. When we first met he gave me some 
very expensive presents merely because I happened 
to look after a girl he knew who was suffering from 
pneumonia. He’s an awfully generous boy, you 
know.” 

“The fact is, Miss Day, I am doing all I can 
to discover Stanley Audley. Can you tell me any 
other facts—anything concerning his other friends?” 

“He had another friend named Graydon, living 
at the same chambers in Half Moon Street, a rather 
stout, round-faced man. But he has also left Lon¬ 
don, I understand.” 

“Graydon!” I ejaculated. So it seemed that the 
pair exchanged names when occasion required. At 
Half Moon Street Audley was Graydon, but out¬ 
side, he took the name of the man who lived on the 
floor below! 

What could have been the motive? 

I afterwards took my pretty companion to the 


DOCTOR FENG’S VIEW 


hi 


theatre, and, later, she took me to Ham-Bone Club, 
where we danced till nearly two. 

From members there, I gleaned several facts con¬ 
cerning Stanley Audley. He was apparently a rich 
young_“man-about-town,” but surrounded, as all 
wealthy young men are, by parasites who sponged 
upon his generosity. Of these Harold Ruthen was 
undoubtedly one. 

Days passed, and although I went hither and 
thither, making inquiries in all likely quarters, I 
could obtain no further knowledge. Stanley Audley 
had disappeared. I felt more convinced than ever 
that Thelma possessed knowledge she feared to 
disclose. 

In my perplexity, I thought, at last, of old Dr. 
Feng. Perhaps he would be able to help me. I 
wrote to him in care of his solicitor and received 
a prompt reply asking me to go and see him at an 
address in Castlenau, Barnes. 

The house was just across Hammersmith Bridge. 
The anonymous letter I had received had been 
posted, I remembered, at Hammersmith. It was 
a queer coincidence. 

Doctor Feng’s house, I found, was of a large, 
old-fashioned detached residence which, a century 
ago, had probably been the dwelling-place of some 
rich City Merchant who drove each morning into 


11 2 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


London in his high dog-cart, his “tiger” with folded 
arms seated behind him. 

A maid conducted me to the front sitting-room, 
a large, well-furnished apartment, where a big fire 
blazed. 

“Well, Yelverton!” exclaimed the old doctor, 
rising, and putting out his hand. “And how are 
you?” I went to see my sister down at Mentone, 
but the weather on the Riviera was simply abomi¬ 
nable—a mistral all the time. So I came back and 
took up my quarters here. Comfortable—aren’t 
they? Sit down. It’s real good to see you again!” 

I stretched myself in a deep comfortable chair 
beside the fire, and we chatted for a time about 
Miirren. 

“I wonder where Humphreys is?” he remarked. 
“He wasn’t a bad sort, was he? And how about 
your temporary bride—the “Little Lady,” as you 
called her!” 

“Well, doctor,” I said, “that is really what I 
came to see you about. The whole affair is a tangle 
and I wondered if you could help me. I have found 
out a lot of things about Stanley Audley that are 
certainly most disconcerting and mysterious.” 

He passed a box of cigars. “Have a smoke over 
it,” he said, “if I can help you I will. But first tell 
me what happened after I left Miirren.” 


DOCTOR FENG’S VIEW 


“A lot,” I replied. “You know Thelma’s husband 
left for London. Well, he never came back.” 

“The young cad,” said the doctor. “But, after 
all, I more than half expected it.” 

“Why?” I asked. 

“Well,” he said, hesitatingly, “shall we say his 
sudden departure was rather suspicious? To put 
it plainly the excuse was a bit thin. Would any 
firm let an employee start on a honeymoon and 
three days later find he was the man for an impor¬ 
tant appointment such as Audley spoke of? Of 
course, such a thing might happen, but a more prob¬ 
able excuse would have carried more conviction. To 
me it suggested a story made up suddenly, in de¬ 
fault if anything better, to explain a departure 
forced upon him by some much less welcome reason. 
However, I had no reason for saying this at the 
time and, after all, I might have been wrong. But 
as things have turned out it seems I was right and 
I am very sorry for his wife. After all, whatever 
her husband may be, she is a charming girl—much 
too good for him, anyhow. But go on, tell me 
what you have found out.” 

I frankly told him, and as he smoked he sat back 
listening thoughtfully without a word of comment. 

At last, when I had concluded, he asked— 

“Have you seen Harold Ruthen?” 

“Not yet. He is an enemy of Thelma’s.” 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


114 

“What makes you think that?” he asked, where¬ 
upon I told him of the curious conversation I had 
overheard. 

He bit his lip and smiled mysteriously, but said 
nothing. It was, however, plain that what I had 
described greatly interested him. 

“And little Mrs. Audley will tell you nothing— 
eh? She refuses. She is evidently hiding some 
secret of her husband’s. Don’t you think so?” 

“To me, she seems in deadly fear lest I should 
discover her husband.” 

“Oh! I quite agree, Yelverton,” the old man 
said. “There’s more behind this curious affair than 
we’ve hitherto suspected. A man doesn’t leave his 
young wife in the hands of a stranger without some 
strong and very doubtful motive. Depend upon it 
that you were marked down as the victim.” 

“Not by Thelma!” I protested. 

“No, she has been your fellow victim.” 

“But the motive of it all?” I asked in dismay. 
“What is your opinion, doctor?” 

“The same that I formed when you first told me 
of your offer of help—that you’ve been a silly idiot, 
Yelverton. Didn’t I point out at the time the risks 
you were running?” 

“Yes, you did,” I replied, “but I still intend— 
=at all hazards—to get to the bottom of the affair.” 


DOCTOR FENG’S VIEW 


“5 

Feng hesitated, and then, looking me straight 
in the face, said very seriously— 

“If you take my advice you will drop the whole 
affair.” 

“Why?” I asked, in surprise. 

“Because those men who lived at Half Moon 
Street and their friends are evidently a very queer 
lot. In any case you ought to cease visiting Mrs. 
Audley.” 

I paused, recollecting that strange warning I had 
received, of which I had not told him. 

“But, after all,” I protested, “we are very good 
friends. Surely I ought to help her by finding her 
husband?” 

“When she probably knows where he is all the 
time!” scoffed Feng. “I don’t see what good you 
will do that way.” 

“Anyhow,” I said shortly, “I’m not going to see 
her left in the lurch like this if I can help it.” 

“Really, Yelverton, I don’t see what good you 
think you can do. We both believe she knows 
where he is. If that is so why should you interfere? 
Of course, what you tell me about the girl Day is 
very interesting and may throw a good deal of light 
on Stanley Audley’s character. But, after all, men 
change their minds and if Audley preferred Thelma 
to Marigold, there was no reason why he should 
not have asked her to marry him.” 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


116 

“None the less, take my advice, drop the whole 
thing. You haven’t the shadow of a legal right to 
interfere. The men who lived in Half Moon Street, 
quite obviously a shady lot, have fled, evidently 
frightened of something and apparently your tem¬ 
porary bride is as frightened as they are. I don’t 
see why you should run any risk in the matter.” 

“But what earthly risk do I run?” I asked. 
“Surely I am capable of looking after myself.” 

“Considerably more risk than you imagine, un¬ 
less I am very much mistaken,” he replied gravely. 

I wondered for a moment whether my mysterious 
warning had come from the doctor himself. But 
what could he know about the affair? I could not 
read anything in his inscrutable face, but his man¬ 
ner certainly suggested that he was in deadly ear¬ 
nest, and, to my intense surprise, he suddenly let 
fall a remark, quite unintentionally, I believed, that, 
I realized with a curious suspicion, showed that he 
knew Thelma and her mother were living at Bex- 
hill. Here was indeed a new complication. I made 
no sign that I had noticed jhis slip, but sat as if 
thinking deeply, as indeed I was. 

How, and for what purpose, had he obtained that 
information. He had professed not to know what 
had happened after he had left Murren. 

The idea flashed through my mind that he and 
Thelma were acting in collusion to “call me off,” 


DOCTOR FENG’S VIEW 


117 

but this seemed so absurd that I dismissed it at once. 

“Now, look here, Yelverton,” he said presently. 
“You’ve not told me everything.” 

“Yes I have,” I protested. 

“You haven’t told me that you’ve fallen deeply 
in love with little Mrs. Audley. That is why I 
warned you—and still warn you—of rocks ahead.” 

“I did not think that necessary,” I said with some 
heat. “That is surely my own affair!” 

“Certainly,” he said, dryly, in the paternal tone 
he sometimes assumed. “But remember my first 
view of the situation was the correct one. I thought 
you extremely indiscreet to accept the trust you did. 
It was a highly dangerous one—for you.” 

“But you agreed afterwards that I did the right 
thing,” I argued. 

“You acted generously in the Little Lady’s inter¬ 
ests, but you have certainly fallen into some extra¬ 
ordinary trap. That’s my point of view,” he an¬ 
swered. “In any case, you are in love with a wife 
whose husband is absent. That is quite enough to 
constitute a very grave danger to both of you. 
So, if I were you I’d keep away from her. Take 
my advice as an old man.” 

His repeated warning angered me, and I fear 
that I did not attempt to conceal my impatience. 
At any rate I took my leave rather abruptly, and 


n8 THE CRYSTAL CLAW 

as I walked in the direction of Hammersmith Bridge 
I felt more than ever puzzled at his attitude, and 
more than ever determined not to deviate from 
the course upon which I had embarked. 


CHAPTER IX 


CROOKED PATHS 

One cold evening I returned from the office after 
a heavy day which had been devoted to the success¬ 
ful settlement of a very complicated and serious 
action for libel against a provincial newspaper which 
we represented. 

As I entered my room, Mrs. Chapman, in her 
spotless black dress—just as she always wore when 
my father was alive—followed me in, saying— 

“Oh ! Mr. Rex. A gentleman called about three 
o’clock. He wouldn’t leave a card. He gave his 
name as Audley—Mr. Stanley Audley. He re¬ 
peated it three times, and told me to be sure to rec¬ 
ollect the name. He said he was extremely sorry 
you were not at home, but you were not to worry 
about him in the least.” 

I started, staring blankly at her. 

“Wouldn’t leave a card? Wouldn’t he call 
again?” 

“He seemed to be in a very great hurry, sir. He 
said he had come from abroad to see you, but 


120 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


couldn’t wait and said he was very sorry. Only I 
was to give you his urgent message.” 

“What was he like?” 

Well, sir, he was a round, rather red-faced gen¬ 
tleman. He was evidently greatly disappointed at 
not meeting you, but he impressed upon me the 
message that he was all right, and that you were 
not to worry about him.” 

This was indeed a surprise. 

It was evident that my caller was the man who 
had lived on the first floor in Half Moon Street, 
and was the friend of the Stanley Audley who had 
married Thelma! 

What did that amazing visit portend? It wor¬ 
ried me. Why should a reassuring message be 
given to me by a man who was not the person in 
whom I was interested, and whom I had never met? 
The whole affair was becoming more and more 
obscure and mysterious. As a solicitor I had been 
brought into contact with more than one queer affair, 
but the Audley mystery was beyond anything in my 
experience. 

“Couldn’t he call again, Mrs. Chapman?” I 
asked. 

“No, sir. He said he had come to see you just 
for a moment, and that he was sorry that he couldn’t 
wait. He had a taxi outside.” 

“Thanks, Mrs. Chapman. I’m sorry I was not 


CROOKED PATHS 12 1 

at home to see him. Did you give him my office 
address ?” 

“I did, sir. But he said he had no time to go 
round to Bedford Row, and that you would no 
doubt understand.” 

Understand! What could I understand? I was 
more bewildered than ever. 

Next day I called again upon Belton, in Half 
Moon Street, and questioned him more closely about 
his recent “Box and Cox” tenants. But he could 
tell me nothing more than he had already. Mr. 
Graydon and Mr. Audley were close friends. That 
was all. 

“Tell me something about their visitors,” I asked. 
“Did Mr. Graydon, the gentleman who lived above, 
have many?” 

“No, sir. Very few. Several of them I knew 
quite well when I was in service—gentlemen from 
the clubs. One a Canadian millionaire, came often, 
but Mr. Graydon never had any lady visitors ex¬ 
cept that young lady we spoke about a short time 
ago—the lady whose photograph you showed me, 
Miss Shaylor.” 

“And Mr. Audley, who lived below?” 

“Oh, he had quite a lot of callers—both ladies 
and gentlemen. He was older than Mr. Graydon, 
and seemed to have quite a big circle of acquain¬ 
tances. They used to play bridge a lot.” 


122 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


“Now, tell me, Mr. Belton. What is your pri¬ 
vate opinion about your tenants?” 

“Well, sir, as you are a solicitor”—he had gained 
that knowledge from my card,—“I can speak quite 
frankly. Now that they are gone I don’t mind 
saying I held them both in suspicion. They had 
plenty of money and paid well, but I don’t think they 
were on the straight. That’s my firm opinion and 
my wife thinks the same.” 

“What first aroused your suspicion?” 

“Their card parties. They weren’t always square. 
I’m sure of it. Mr. Audley had an invalid friend, 
an old man named Davies, who came about three 
times, and when he came woe betide those who 
played. I kept my eyes and ears open when I 
served their drinks, and I’m sure I am not mis¬ 
taken.” 

“An invalid!” I exclaimed. “What kind of man 
was he?” 

“Oh! he was very lame, was Mr. Davies, sir. An 
old man, but as keen as mustard on poker.” 

“Did Mr. Graydon play?” I asked. 

“Very little, sir.” 

“Did he ever meet this Mr. Davies?” 

“I think not, sir. Because on the first occasion 
Mr. Davies came I recollect that Mr. Graydon was 
away in Norway. The next time he came, Mr. 
Graydon was away in Paris. No,” he went on, “as 


CROOKED PATHS 123 

far as I can recollect Mr. Graydon never met Mr. 
Davies.” 

“Then this Mr. Davies was a person to be 
avoided?” I suggested. 

“Distinctly so, sir. He was a shrewd and clever 
gambler, and I feel certain that he was in league 
with Mr. Audley. Indeed, I know that on the morn¬ 
ing after one of their sittings they divided up a 
thousand pounds between them. It had been won 
from a man named Raikes, a manufacturer from 
Sheffield.” 

“So they shared the spoils?” I said. “But tell me 
more about this interesting invalid.” 

“Well, sir. He was a grey-bearded man of about 
sixty I should think, and he walked with difficulty 
with two sticks. He seemed to lisp when he spoke.” 

It struck me at once that the ex-butler’s descrip¬ 
tion would have fitted old Mr. Humphreys very 
closely, except that Humphreys did not lisp. I had 
no reason for thinking that Humphreys could have 
known Graydon, but he might have done so and 
he certainly was a very keen poker player. 

“Had he a rather scraggy, pointed beard and 
did he wear in his tie a blue scarab pin?” I asked. 

“No,” was Belton’s prompt reply, “he had a 
round beard and I never saw him wearing a scarab 
pin.” 

Now old Mr. Humphreys always wore an an- 


124 THE CRYSTAL CLAW 

tique pin of that description; I never saw him with¬ 
out it. He was immensely proud of it and used to 
declare it was a mascot that brought him good 
luck. He had a wonderful story of how he obtained 
it from some old Egyptian tomb. So the chance 
of Mr. Davies and old Humphreys being identical 
seemed a coincidence almost too peculiar to be true. 
Yet I could not get rid of a suspicion that they were 
one and the same person. 

“You are quite certain that he never met the 
young gentleman you knew as Mr. Graydon?” I 
asked Belton. 

“I’m quite certain of that, sir. One day Mr. 
Audley asked me not to say that Mr. Davies had 
been there, and asked that I would keep his visits 
a secret from young Graydon as he did not wish 
them to meet. There was, I remember, a lady 
named Temperley, who sometimes came with Mr. 
Davies. She was a stout, dark-eyed, over-dressed 
woman whom I put down as a retired actress. She 
had a young, thin rather ugly daughter, a girl with 
a long face, and protruding teeth. Both mother 
and daughter seemed to be on terms of close friend¬ 
ship with Mr. Davies.” 

“Davies was an invalid. How did he get up. 
these stairs?” 

“With difficulty, sir. I used to help him up, and 
sometimes Mr. Audley helped me,” was the ex-but- 


CROOKED PATHS 


125 

ler’s reply. u At poker he was marvelous. I’ve 
seen poker played in several families in whose serv¬ 
ice I’ve been, but I never saw a finer player. He 
w*as more like a professional than an ordinary player 
for amusement.” 

“And your tenant, Mr. Audley?” 

“He was a fine player, of course. He used to 
have friends in at night and sometimes they would 
play till dawn.” 

“And did Mr. Graydon never play?” I asked. 

“Very seldom; the parties usually took place when 
he was away.” 

It was quite evident that Stanley Audley, alias 
Graydon, was a person of mystery and his friends 
were as mysterious as himself. After a moment’s 
reflection I decided to take Belton fully into my 
confidence and tell him the whole story. 

“Now, look here, Belton,” I said, “you may be 
able to help me considerably. I will tell you the 
whole story so far as I know it, and perhaps you 
will be able to remember further facts that may 
help.” 

“So I related to him everything that had hap¬ 
pened since I first met Stanley Audley and his bride 
at Miirren. 

Belton listened in silence. When I had finished 
he asked me one or two questions. 

“Well, sir,” he said at last, “I think you had 


126 THE CRYSTAL CLAW 

better see my wife. She may know something 
more.” 

He fetched Mrs. Belton and briefly outlined to 
her the facts I had given him. 

“You see, Ada,” he said, “the gentleman who 
called himself Audley here, was not the Mr. Audley 
who married the daughter of Commander Shaylor. 
Mr. Graydon is her husband. Isn’t it a puzzle T r 

“It is,” replied his wife. Then, after I had made 
my explanation I begged her to tell me any further 
fact which might be of service in my inquiry. She 
hesitated for a moment and at last said: 

“Don’t you recollect, Jack, that Mr. Graydon, be¬ 
fore he came to us, lived at Seton’s, in Lancaster 
Gate. He was very friendly with Mr. Seton, who 
you remember was butler to old Lord Kenhythe at 
Kenhythe, in Kirkcudbrightshire. You went there 
one shooting season from Shawcross Castle, to 
oblige his lordship.” 

“Oh! yes, of course!” exclaimed her husband. 
“Really, Ada, you’ve a long memory!” 

“Well, I was head-housemaid once at Shawcross 
Castle. You forget that! But, don’t you recollect 
that young Mr. Graydon was very friendly with Mr. 
Seton. I don’t know why he left there and came to 
us, but I fancy it was because there was such a row 
at a party he had there, and he wouldn’t apologize, 
or something like that.” 


CROOKED PATHS 


127 

“Ah! I remember it all now, of course, Ada,” 
exclaimed the woman’s husband. “Yes, you’re right 
—perfectly right! If there’s one man in London 
who knows about Mr. Graydon it’s Mr. Seton.” 

He gave me the address of Lord Kenhythe’s ex¬ 
butler, and an hour later I called at a large private 
hotel facing Hyde Park, near Lancaster Gate, with 
a scribbled card from Belton. 

The man who received me was a tall, very urbane 
person with small side-whiskers. He took me into 
his private parlor in the basement, where I told 
him the object of my visit. 

“Yes, sir. I know Mr. Philip Graydon. A very 
estimable young gentleman.” 

“Who is he?” 

“Well, his father was the great Clyde shipbuilder, 
whose works are at Port Glasgow—the firm of 
Graydon and Hambling. When his father died, 
about two years ago, he left him a quarter of a 
million.” 

“You know him well?” 

“I did, sir. His father used to shoot with his 
lordship regularly, and Mr. Philip often came with 
him.” 

I briefly told him that I was making inquiries into 
certain very curious circumstances, and said— 

“I want your private opinion, Mr. Seton. Is 
there anything peculiar concerning Mr. Graydon? 


128 THE CRYSTAL CLAW 

I ask this because on his marriage he took the name 
of Audley.” 

“His marriage! I didn’t know he’d married, 
sir.” 

“Yes. And he is missing. It is on behalf of his 
wife, who is a friend of mine, that I’m making 
these inquiries.” 

“Mr. Graydon married!” he repeated. “Pardon 
me, sir, but whom did he marry?” 

“A young lady named Shaylor.” 

“Ah!” he ejaculated. “Yes, I know. He was 
very fond of her—very fond! Her mother is a 
widow in very straitened circumstances, I’ve heard. 
But do you say he’s missing?” 

“Yes. He disappeared while they were on their 
honeymoon in Switzerland.” 

“And where is his wife now?” 

“With her mother in Bexhill. But tell me, Mr. 
Seton, Mr. Graydon as you call him, was with you 
for some months, wasn’t he?” 

“For nearly a year and a half, sir.” 

“And during that time did a man named Audley 
ever visit him?” 

“Yes, a round-faced man who lived at Belton’s. 
He visited Mr. Graydon first about six weeks before 
he left me to go and live at Belton’s.” 

“Why did he leave you?” 


CROOKED PATHS 


129 


“Well, he had a bachelor party one night—they 
were very noisy and I remonstrated with him, and 
—well, he’s only young, sir—and the fact is he 
insulted me. So I gave him notice. But we’re still 
the best of friends,” said the ex-butler. 

And then Seton sprang on me perhaps the great¬ 
est surprise of my life. 

“Now I know your reason for wanting to see Mr. 
Graydon,” he said. “I may as well tell you he is 
here now.” 

“Here!” I gasped excitedly, “do you mean he is 
staying here?” 

“Yes, sir,” was the reply, “he’s in number eigh¬ 
teen. He came here yesterday quite unexpectedly.” 

At last I had run Thelma’s mysterious husband to 
earth! 

“He came in half an hour ago,” Seton went on, 
“and I gave him a letter which came for him by 
express messenger. I know he’s upstairs. If you 
would like to see him, I will send up.” 

“No, thanks,” I said. “Under the circumstances 
I think I would prefer to go up unannounced if you 
have no objection.” 

“Not in the least,” replied Seton. “Number 
Eighteen is on the second floor.” 

So I eagerly ascended the wide, thickly-carpeted 
stairs. I had no very clear idea as to how I should 
approach the man I had known as Stanley Audley, 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


130 

but I was determined to demand an adequate ex¬ 
planation of why he had married Thelma under an 
assumed name and so cruelly deserted her, and, if 
necessary, to back my demand by a threat of legal 
proceedings* 


CHAPTER X 


IN ROOM NUMBER EIGHTEEN 

On the second landing I rapped at the door of 
room Number 18, feeling considerable pleasure at 
the thought of giving my whilom friend an unwel¬ 
come surprise. 

There was no reply, but I fancied I heard a move*- 
ment inside. I listened eagerly. 

I knocked again. Yes. I felt sure someone was 
within, but my knock met with no response. 

A third time I knocked and more loudly, but to 
no avail. I tried the door—it was locked. 

Five times I hammered with my fist, but there 
being no answer I descended the stairs and found 
Mr. Seton. 

“But he must be up there if his door is locked,” 
he said. “He never takes his key but always leaves 
it on the peg here,” and he indicated a board on the 
wall in a little box-like room off the hall where vis¬ 
itors left their keys. To each key was attached a 
bulky ball of wood, in order that the key should 
not be carried away accidentally in the pocket. 

With the landlord I reascended the stairs and 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


1 3 2 

Seton knocked at the door, calling his guest by 
name. But there was still no response. 

“Do you know, I believe I heard somebody in¬ 
side when I first knocked,” I remarked. 

Seton bent and peered through the keyhole. 

“At any rate the door is locked on the inside,” 
he said. 

Then he thundered at the door, after which we 
both listened. There was no sound, but I thought 
I detected the smell of burning paper. 

All the other guests were apparently out at the 
time, for the noise we made attracted only the 
servants. 

“Baker!” Seton cried to a man who was in his 
shirtsleeves and wore an apron of green baize, “we 
must force this door. There’s a crowbar down in 
the cellar. Go and get it.” 

As the man addressed ran downstairs, the ex¬ 
butler turned to me with a scared expression upon 
his face, saying- 

“This is very peculiar, sir. Why has he locked 
himself in like this? Did you really hear a noise?” 

“Yes. I am sure I did, yet with the roar of the 
traffic out in the road, I really couldn’t quite swear 
to it,” was my reply. 

“What I heard was like a man bustling about hur¬ 
riedly, and yet trying to make no noise.” 



IN ROOM NUMBER EIGHTEEN 133 

“Surely he can’t have fainted—or—or committed 
suicide!” Seton remarked. 

For a few minutes we stood outside the door 
utterly mystified, until the porter brought us a rusty 
bar of iron about three feet long, curved and flat¬ 
tened at the end—a very serviceable crow-bar. 

This, Seton inserted between the door and the 
jamb, close to the lock, and then drew it back slowly. 
The woodwork groaned, creaked and cracked and 
with a sudden jerk the wood round the mortice lock 
tore away and the door flew open. 

We stood amazed. The room was empty. 

In a few seconds we had searched the big old- 
fashioned wardrobe and had looked beneath the 
bed and behind the curtains. But nobody was there. 
And, moreover, while the key was still in the door 
on the inside the window was closed and latched! 

The fire-place was a small one with a flue through 
which not even a small boy could pass. In the grate 
were smoldering ashes of something, apparently 
a coat that had been hastily burned. There was 
an odor of consumed petrol, and it occurred to me 
at once that some clothing had been hurriedly sat¬ 
urated from a bottle of motor-spirit and set fire to 
—for the room was still heavy with smoke. 

Seton crossed to the window and saw at once 
that it had not been opened. I glanced out and 
down. From the narrow window-sill there was a 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


i 34 

sheer drop to the paved basement forty or fifty 
feet below with not even a stackpipe by which an 
active man might have escaped. 

“Well, this is extraordinary,” cried Seton. “How 
could Mr. Graydon possibly get out of the room 
and leave it still locked on the inside?” 

Seton bent suddenly over the fireplace. “Well, 
we may as well see what he was burning,” he said 
as he picked up a half charred piece of paper that 
had apparently been crumpled up hastily and thrown 
into the grate. He smoothed it out and looked at 
it in amazement. 

It was a portion of a fifty-pound Bank of England 
note! It was partly burned but quite enough was 
left to identify it without any possibility of a mis¬ 
take. 

“Well,” I exclaimed, “burning fifty-pound notes 
is certainly a new kind of pastime. What on earth 
can it mean?” 

“I can’t imagine,” replied Seton. “And how can 
Mr. Graydon have gone? Certainly not through 
the door or the window.” 

“And before he went,” I added, “he burnt a coat 
or something of the kind and a fifty-pound note!” 

In front of the window was a small early Vic¬ 
torian escritoire. Upon it were several loose sheets 
of paper from a new writing-pad, an ink-stained 
envelope, and a couple of bills from a local chemist. 


IN ROOM NUMBER EIGHTEEN 135 

Seton opened two or three of the drawers and 
from one of them drew a folded wad of papers. 
“More notes!” he ejaculated, as he felt with his' 
fingers the crisp familiar crackle. 

There were three notes for fifty pounds each, 
obviously quite new. Clearly Graydon, in his hurry, 
had forgotten that they were there. 

“It seems to me,” I said to Seton, “that Graydon 
must have been frightened by something and had 
to get away quickly.” 

“Frightened, but of what?” Seton asked. “I saw 
him only half an hour before you came, and he 
seemed all right then.” 

“Do you think my visit might have frightened 
him?” I asked. 

“Well, sir, I don’t know. But why did he burn 
a fifty-pound note and how did he get out? That’s 
what puzzles me. I could have understood it if 
he had locked his door on the outside.” 

“It beats me, anyhow,” I said, looking round 
the room. I noticed Graydon’s two suitcases stood 
open and some of his clothes were hanging in the 
wardrobe. Why, and above all how had he van-* 
ished so suddenly? But for the fact that he had 
actually called to see me—showing that he cer¬ 
tainly was not afraid of meeting me—I might well 
have thought that he would be alarmed on recog- 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


136 

nizing my voice. But he had evidently not done so 
and must have thought I was someone else whom 
he urgently desired to avoid. 

Those fifty-pound notes puzzled Lord Kenhythe’s 
ex-butler as completely as they did myself. Men 
do not usually go about burning fifty-pound notes. 
We knew that the young fellow who, in Switzerland 
had posed as a hard-working electrical engineer 
welcoming the prospect of a “rise,” was on the con¬ 
trary, a rich young man. But that he should burn 
bank-notes of such value or leave them discarded 
as he had done, was simply inexplicable on any 
hypothesis we could frame. 

I was deeply chagrined. I had come within an 
ace of capturing the truant bridegroom and yet he 
had eluded me. Could it really, I asked myself, 
have been the same man? Again I carefully de¬ 
scribed to Seton the man I had known as Stanley 
Audley. He was emphatic in his assertion that it 
was Philip Graydon, the man who had been in 
that very room barely half an hour before. And 
as if to make assurance doubly sure, I found on one 
of his suitcases a label of the Kiirhaus Hotel at 
Miirren and another put on at Miirren station, regis¬ 
tering this case through to Victoria. 

There could not be the slightest doubt as to the 
mystery man’s identity as Thelma’s husband. 


IN ROOM NUMBER EIGHTEEN 137 

“Look here I” said Seton, suddenly, as he held up 
a towel he had taken from the rail. It was stained 
with blood. The hand basin was half full of water 
deeply tinged with blood. 

“Evidently he had cut himself badly,” was Seton’s 
comment. 

“Perhaps,” I said, “but is this his own blood or 
someone else’s?” 

“Surely, sir, you don’t suspect he has been guilty 
of a crime?” gasped Seton. 

I pointed to the charred fragments of the coat. 
“It might be so,” I rejoined. 

A few moments later, however, on making a 
closer search of the room we found in the waste- 
paper basket a broken medicine bottle and on the 
edge of a piece of glass was a blood stain. It told 
its own tale—he had cut his hand upon the glass. 
Further, close beside the dressing-table were three 
or four dark spots. I touched one, and found it to 
be blood. 

“I wonder why he destroyed his coat?” Seton 
remarked. “He’s gone away leaving everything 
behind.” 

“But how did he get out?” I persisted. “The 
door and window were both fastened and there is 
no fanlight.” 

We again carefully examined the lock. It was 


138 THE CRYSTAL CLAW 

intact, it had been locked from the inside and the 
key was still there. 

Together we went carefully through the fugitive’s 
belongings, but found nothing of interest. They 
were merely clothes of good quality or the ward¬ 
robe of a fashionable young man. From the pocket 
of the suitcase that bore the label “B. O. B.”—or 
Bernese Oberland Bahn—I took out three one- 
pound Treasury notes. But we found not a scrap 
of writing of any sort. There was some burnt paper 
in the fireplace, suggesting that with the coat he 
had destroyed all documents that might give a clue 
to his identity. The broken botde smelt of petrol 
and apparently he had kept the spirit ready for use 
if he wanted quickly to destroy anything. 

Our search concluded, Seton had all the things 
removed to an unoccupied room and locked the door. 

“The Bank will pay the halfnote,” said Seton. 
“I shall pay the lot in and hold the money until Mr. 
Graydon turns up again. He has plenty of money, 
of course, and may not have missed it. There is 
no doubt some explanation. I cannot believe, know¬ 
ing Mr. Graydon as I did, that there can be any¬ 
thing very seriously wrong.” 

“But why should the note be burned?” I queried. 

“It might have been accidentally among the other 
papers he destroyed, sir. Don’t you think so?” 

This, of course, was possible. For a long time 


IN ROOM NUMBER EIGHTEEN 139 

we sat in Seton’s room discussing the strange affair. 
At first Seton thought he ought to tell the police, 
but I urged him not to do so. It would get into 
the papers, I argued, and that was the last thing 
desirable for a high-class private hotel such as his. 
I did not want a public scandal that must involve 
Thelma in most unpleasant publicity. 

“I wonder whether he had an inkling that you’d 
called, sir?” suggested Seton. “Perhaps he saw 
you from one of the front windows and then rushed 
up and prepared to bolt.” 

“But why should he? I have acted towards him 
only as a friend and I see no reason why he should 
take such extreme steps to avoid me. Besides, he 
actually called at my flat.” 

“Yes, I had forgotten that,” Seton admitted. 
“But still, I think something must have frightened 
him—and frightened him badly, too. He wouldn’t 
have cut his hand in opening the botde of petrol, 
burned his clothes and papers, and got away so 
swiftly if there wasn’t some very strong motive for 
doing so. What’s your opinion?” 

“The same as yours, Seton,” I answered. “But 
the affair is full of remarkable circumstances. How 
did he get out of that locked room? He was cer¬ 
tainly in there when I first knocked.” 

“My own belief,” said Seton, “is that he must 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


140 

have started to destroy his things as soon as you 
knocked. He was certainly in a great hurry for 
he smashed the neck of the petrol bottle when he 
found he could not get the cork out—it’s still in 
the neck of the broken bottle—and cut his hand in 
doing so.” 

“But there wouldn’t have been time,” I said, im¬ 
patiently. 

“I think so,” said Seton. “The coat was a light 
one and saturated with petrol, it would burn very 
quickly. You stood at the door probably for ten 
minutes before you called me and it was certainly 
another quarter of an hour, or even more, before 
I forced the door. That coat would burn in that 
time.” 

“Yes, perhaps, but that doesn’t explain how he 
got away from the locked room, or where he 
went to.” 

“Lord Kenhythe’s ex-butler shrugged his broad 
shoulders and with a mystified look upon his clean¬ 
shaven face, replied— 

“How he got out, sir, and where he has gone to, 
is to me a complete mystery. But I feel sure he’ll 
come back, or he’ll write and tell me about it. Be¬ 
sides, he’s not a gentleman to leave without settling 
his bill.” 

“Well,” I said, laughing, “you won’t lose much. 
He’s left you two hundred odd pounds.” 


IN ROOM NUMBER EIGHTEEN 141 

I left, promising to call again on the following 
afternoon. This I did, eager to know whether he 
had any further news of his missing guest. 

As I entered the room, I saw that the man’s face 
was graver and more puzzled than before. 

“Well, Mr. Seton?” I asked. “What’s hap- 
pened?” 

“Happened, sir. Those bank-notes. When I 
took them to the bank this morning the manager 
called me into his room and questioned me very 
closely. They’re forgeries!” 

“Forged notes!” I gasped, staring at him. 

“Yes, sir. The manager told me that all banks 
here and abroad had been warned about six months 
ago that a quantity of spurious five and fifty-pound 
Bank of England notes were in circulation. They’ve 
been printed in Argentina. The police made a raid 
on the factory, seized the printing press and plates 
and six men were arrested. All of them have been 
sent to prison for long terms, but at the trial it came 
out that they were in league with certain confeder¬ 
ates in Paris, Madrid and London who were en¬ 
gaged in circulating them—mostly the five-pound 
ones.” 

“And what did you say?” I asked. 

“Well, sir, I told the whole story. The manager 
took the notes, and I believe he’s sent them to the 
Bank of England.” 


142 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 

“Then the police will start inquiries!” I cried, 
dismayed, for the situation was becoming daily more 
complicated. 

“Yes, sir,” he replied. “I understood from the 
manager that they will 1” 


CHAPTER XI 


LOVE VS. HONOR 

Here was a new and extraordinary complication. 

Why was Stanley Audley, alias Philip Grayson, 
in possession of forged notes from the notorious 
factory in South America? Why had he attempted 
to destroy one of them, while leaving the others in 
a drawer? 

In the hope, though it was but faint, of getting 
further infoimation about Audley, I telephoned 
to Marigold Day and asked her to dine with me at 
the Piccadilly Hotel. 

She promptly accepted, and during the meal I 
brought the talk round to Audley, telling her of his 
remarkable disappearance from the room in Seton’s 
Hotel in Lancaster Gate. 

“But are you really certain it was Mr. Audley ?” 
she asked. 

“Quite,” I replied. “Seton’s description of him 
bears no possible room for doubt. Besides, he had 
known Audley for a long time and there is no pos¬ 
sibility that he can have made a mistake.” 

“It is an extraordinary thing if he has been in 
143 


144 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


London that he did not let me know,” she said, 
frowning and evidently puczled. 

“Yes, that is so, but we have to remember that 
for some unaccountable reason he seems to have 
decided to completely efface himself.” 

“Harold Ruthen believes that he is hiding in 
Paris,” she said. 

“But from whom should he be hiding, and why?” 
I questioned. “Do you think that he can possibly 
be hiding from the police?” 

“I don’t know what to think,” she replied with 
a sigh, “but why do you suggest the police.” 

“Well,” I answered, “I think you ought to know 
that a very strange thing happened at Lancaster 
Gate. When we searched the room we found in the 
grate a half-burned Bank of England fifty-pound 
note. In a drawer were three others. And all of 
them have been found to be forgeries.” 

“Ah, then you know,” said the girl with a queer, 
hard look that I had never seen in her eyes before. 

“That is all I know,” I said, “and I wondered 
whether you could tell me any more. Is it on ac¬ 
count of these forged notes that he is hiding? It 
certainly looks very like it, and I have no doubt 
whatever that that will be the view of the police. 
What does Ruthen say?” 

“He hasn’t told me anything, but I remember 
one queer incident. Once when we were out to- 


LOVE VS. HONOR 


i 45 

gether he paid for supper with a five-pound note and 
we were about to go out when the manager of the 
restaurant came back and declared it to be a forgery. 
Stanley apologized profusely, and gave the man an¬ 
other in its place, explaining that he had cashed a 
cheque at his club and they had given it to him with 
four others. Apparently the others he had were 
genuine. I did not think much of it at the time— 
such a thing, of course, might easily have happened 
—but after what you have told me I don’t know 
what to believe.” 

It was difficult to believe that the young fellow 
who had married Thelma and for whom I had 
formed a genuine liking, could be the ally of a gang 
of bank note forgers, yet the evidence was becom¬ 
ing overwhelming. 

“But I thought you told me Audley was well off,” 
I said. “Well-to-do people don’t usually descend 
to dealing in forged notes.” 

“He always appeared to be,” was Marigold’s 
reply, “but possibly that was how he made his money. 
As a matter of fact I really did not know very much 
about him. I met him through intimate friends and 
I suppose I more or less took him for granted. He 
was quite obviously a gentleman and one can’t en¬ 
quire closely into the antecedents of every man 
one meets.” 

I wondered whether the girl had in some way 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


146 

stumbled upon the truth. If this were the case, the 
shock of finding that the man she undoubtedly was 
beginning to love was involved in such infamous 
practices as the passing of forged notes would be 
quite sufficient to explain the strange change Mrs. 
Powell had noticed and commented on. It was quite 
clear, from what Mrs. Powell had said, that she had 
suffered some blow which had utterly upset her. On 
the other hand, the knowledge that Audley had mar¬ 
ried Thelma would have been an equally satisfactory 
explanation. 

In answer to a question, Marigold told me she 
had seen Ruthen at Rector’s Club three nights be¬ 
fore and had chatted with him. He had then told 
her that he was still in search of Stanley and that 
he had been looking for him in Paris. But, although 
she had questioned him, he would not tell her his 
motives. 

We went to a revue together and later I saw her 
into a taxi on her way home. Though I questioned 
her as closely as I could, and she seemed quite will¬ 
ing to help, she could not, or would not, tell me any 
more. 

I walked home to Russell Square utterly bewil¬ 
dered and spent a sleepless night racking my brain 
for a solution of the mystery. Here we were in 
April and so far as I could tell I was as far off as 
ever from finding the key to the enigma. 


LOVE VS. HONOR 


147 

I decided next day to take my partner, Hensman, 
fully into my confidence. He was five years older 
than I, and a keen, practical business man for whose 
judgment I had considerable respect. 

He heard me in silence. At first he was inclined 
to be amused but as I went on his thin, clean-shaven 
face assumed a very serious expression. 

“Well,” I asked when I had finished, “what do 
you think of it all 

“Intensely interesting, Rex—but extremely com¬ 
plicated,” was my partner’s reply, as he sat back in 
his chair. “On the face of it Audley is a crook 
hiding from the police. Evidently he has not at¬ 
tempted to get abroad, but is still somewhere in 
London. That’s my view.” 

“But what causes his wife to tell me that he can 
never return to her?” I asked. “What is your opin¬ 
ion of that?” 

“I cannot tell that. But I believe she must hear 
from him and that she knows his whereabouts from 
time to time. The telegram he received calling him 
back from Miirren was, no doubt, a message of 
warning.” 

“I quite agree,” I said. “But why did he escape 
so rapidly from Lancaster Gate?” 

“Probably he thought you were a detective.” 

“But if he saw me enter the place he would have 
recognized me at once.” 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


148 

“True. I never thought of that,” said Hensman. 
“No. He took fright at something, and thought 
he’d destroy all the bank-notes. His escape, I admit, 
was an ingenious one. He evidently slipped out 
while you had gone downstairs to call Seton, and 
leaving the key on the inside of the door, re¬ 
locked it.” 

“How could he?” 

“If the end of the key protruded, as it does in 
many cases, it would be quite easy to turn with a 
pair of pincers,” Hensman replied. “If he is a 
crook he most probably carries a pair, for by that 
means locked doors are frequently opened by 
thieves.” 

This explanation, simple though it was, appeared 
perfectly adequate and I was chagrined that neither 
Seton nor myself had hit upon it. Later, when I 
again examined the door, I had no doubt at all 
about it. The end of the key projected beyond the 
surface of the door and as the lock was well-oiled 
and went very easily, it was easy, I found, to turn 
the key from the outside with a pair of pliers. 

It was clear that Audley had been alarmed by 
something, whether it was my knock at his door that 
had disturbed him, we could not tell. Whatever it 
was, he had evidently slipped out when he heard me 
walk away from the door, locked the door behind 
him and hidden in one of the other rooms. Then his 


LOVE VS. HONOR 


149 

movements, masked by the noise made in breaking 
open the door, he had calmly walked out and dis¬ 
appeared. 

“My advice, Rex, is to have nothing further to 
do with the affair,” my partner argued. “Leave it 
all severely alone. There is no sort of reason why 
you should allow yourself to be dragged into any 
police-court business. Suppose Audley is arrested, 
as no doubt he will be eventually, then you’ll be 
called for the prosecution. And you don’t want 
that.” 

I demurred. It was the same advice that old 
Feng had given me. And yet, try how I could, I 
could not bring myself to desert Thelma in her dis¬ 
tress. 

Three days later I received a note from her from 
the Hotel Reubens, in Buckingham Palace Road, 
saying that her mother and she were staying there 
for a few days and asking whether I could see her.. 

I called that evening, and was invited to stay to 
dinner. She was very charming, but I saw she was 
pale and anxious. She seemed overwrought and 
nervous, her slim fingers ever fidgeting with her 
wedding-ring. 

After dinner we were taking coffee in the lounge 
when Thelma, seeing a girl she knew, rose and left 
us to speak to her. 


150 THE CRYSTAL CLAW 

“Well, Mrs. Shaylor,” I asked quickly, “has 
Thelma had any further news of her husband?” 

“Not a word,” was the reply. “But several times 
a man, a stranger to me, has been to see her, and 
they have gone out together. His name, I believe, 
is Ruthen or Ruthven.” 

“Harold Ruthen! He was at Miirren.” 

“So I believe. But he seems to pester her to 
death,” replied her mother. “Each time he comes 
she seems very upset, and I know she cries bitterly 
after he has gone. He seems to hold some extra¬ 
ordinary hold over her, but she will not say any¬ 
thing about it.” 

“She does not like him?” 

“I don’t know. She always receives him gladly. 
But she may not feel what she pretends.” 

“Curious if that fellow really has some hold over 
her,” I said, recollecting that strange conversation 
in the night at Miirren. “My opinion is that Thelma 
is in fear of him, and in order to cloak her fear from 
you she pretends to welcome him, whereas his pres¬ 
ence is really hateful to her.” 

“You think so?” asked the widow, stirring her 
coffee and looking straight into my face. “All she 
has told me is that the man is a friend of her hus¬ 
band’s. 

“I believe that is true,” was my reply. 


LOVE VS. HONOR 


Hi 

“And he is in search of Stanley, just as you are, 
Mr. Yelverton,” she added. 

I drew a long breath, but made no reply, for at 
that instant Thelma rejoined us, exclaiming: 

“Only fancy, mother, I haven’t seen Sybil Deigh- 
ton since I left school. And now she’s married. 
That’s her husband she’s with. Rather a nice boy, 
isn’t he?” 

And she threw herself into the lounge-chair next 
to me. 

Not until an hour later when Mrs. Shaylor had 
bidden us good-night and we had retired into one 
of the cosy corners that I ventured to speak of 
Stanley. 

“No, Mr. Yelverton,” she said shaking her beau¬ 
tiful head sadly, and raising her big gray eyes to 
mine. “I have heard nothing—not a word. If 
Stanley is still alive he would surely send me a re¬ 
assuring word. I—I begin to think that he must 
be dead!” 

Stanley Audley dead! If that were so I should be 
free to love her and to win her if I could. The 
very thought caused my heart to leap. I even found 
myself cherishing the wish that it might be true. 
Yet a moment later I began to despise myself for 
entertaining such an unworthy thought. It was not 
“playing the game” according to the right traditions 
of the school in which I had been brought up. And 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


152 

so far, at any rate, I had tried to conform to the 
code of personal honor that, with many men, is a 
far more powerful rule of conduct than most forms 
of religious belief. 

Though I led the conversation several times in 
the direction of Harold Ruthen, Thelma said noth¬ 
ing of his visits to Bexhill. I was irritated because 
she would not be frank with me. At length I thought 
it would be best to speak plainly and told her of my 
adventure in Lancaster Gate, of course without men¬ 
tioning the discovery of the forged banknotes. 

“But, surely it could not have been Stanley!” she 
exclaimed excitedly. “Why should he want to avoid 
you,” of all men? “He could not imagine you as 
anything else but a friend!” 

“Equally so, why does he not let you know his 
whereabouts?” I asked in turn. 

She shook her head in dismay. 

Then suddenly, with an expression of despair in 
her eyes, she put out her thin white hand with the 
wedding ring upon it, and pointing to it, said in a 
low voice— 

“Think what—what a mockery this is to me!” 

What could I reply? Here was a girl not yet 
twenty, married only a few days and then deserted. 
Her distress was very real and very pitiful. It had 
been on the tip of my tongue to tax her with her 
concealment from me of Ruthen’s visits, but in view 


LOVE VS. HONOR 


153 

of what she was suffering I could not bring myself 
to pain her further. Either she loved her husband, 
in spite of his apparently callous desertion of her, 
so, for some inexplicable reason she was playing a 
part with a skill that many an actress would envy. 

More and more I was tortured by my growing 
love for her. Hitherto I had kept it within bounds, 
and, so far as I knew, I had never—intentionally, at 
any rate—given a hint of it to Thelma herself. But 
as I look back, I can see now that such a restraint 
could not be maintained. A crash was bound to 
come. It came, very swiftly and very suddenly a 
few days later. 

Thelma and her mother had promised to come 
and have tea with me in my rooms at Russell Square. 
At the last moment Mrs. Shaylor was called to Wat¬ 
ford to see her sister who had been taken ill, and 
Thelma came alone. She was in comparatively good 
spirits and after my old housekeeper had served us 
with tea, we spent a couple of delightful hours. 
Thelma, an accomplished musician, sang to me, ac¬ 
companying herself on my piano, and as I sat watch¬ 
ing and listening to her I realized more fully than 
ever how handsome and lovable she was and my 
anger against Stanley Audley became almost un¬ 
bearable. 

“Poor mother!” she exclaimed presently as she 
re-seated herself by the fire, after singing a gay 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


154 

song from one of the latest revues, “She’s awfully 
worried. That’s why we are up in town. The 
securities which my father left are depreciating in 
value, and one of the companies in which he in¬ 
vested most of his money has now gone into liquida¬ 
tion. She came up to see my uncle, who is her trus¬ 
tee. Yes, Mr. Yelverton, the war spelt ruin to us. 
as it did to so many others, and yet the Stock Ex¬ 
change speculators made fortunes out of it—out of 
lives of men.” 

It was sad news she had told me, but I had not 
been blind to the fact that Mrs. Shaylor was, like 
so many other gentlewomen of today, keeping up 
a brave. appearance, with but small funds at her 
disposal. 

I longed to mention Harold Ruthen, but did not 
dare to do so lest I should betray what her mother 
had told me in confidence. But I was angry that 
the fellow dared to seek her at Bexhill and cause her 
worry. It, however, proved one fact, that he, at 
any rate, was not aware of Stanley’s whereabouts, 
and, for the moment, could not do him the harm 
that I believe he fully intended. 

How one’s most momentous actions depend at 
times upon the merest trivilities! I little guessed 
that a trifle was to rouse in me a gust of emotion 
destined to sweep away the last vestige of the iron 
self-control I had honestly tried to set upon myself. 


LOVE VS. HONOR 


155 

Thelma was the wife of another man: that fact 
I had tried to keep always before my mind. I was 
to learn now that there are, in each one of us, forces 
too strong to be enchained by any man-made codes 
of conduct. 

Thelma had seated herself in a low chair and was 
gazing sadly into the fire. Either her gaiety had 
been a pretense or the thought of her unhappy posi¬ 
tion had again overcome her. 

“It’s very hard lines on you, Thelma,” I said 
softly. 

She made no reply, but her eyes filled suddenly 
with tears. She put out her hand as if in acknowl¬ 
edgment of my sympathy and I took it in mine. 

Its touch seemed to pour liquid fire through every 
pore of my being. I forgot all my good resolutions, 
all my pride of tradition and, in a second, I was 
kneeling beside her, pouring out a flood of impas¬ 
sioned words. What I said I have not the faintest 
idea. I was beside myself in a passion of love that 
broke all bounds and defied restraint. 

Thelma rose quickly from her chair, crossed the 
room to the window and, burying her face in her 
hands, burst into a torrent of tears. 

That brought me to my senses. I saw, too late, 
how unutterably foolish I had been. How utterly in¬ 
excusable was my conduct. Yet I had no regrets; 


156 THE CRYSTAL CLAW 

rather I was thrilled with a savage joy that she 
should know the truth at last. 

“Stanley had no right to leave you as he has 
done, without cause, or explanation after a few days 
only of marriage!” I cried. “It is harsh and cruel. 
It is not the act of a man of honor.” 

But she held up her hand as though to stay my 
further words. 

“I—I’m sorry I came here, Mr. Yelverton,” she 
said, suddenly, quite earnest and calm. “I thank 
you for all your efforts on my behalf but I think we 
must not meet in the future.” 

“Then you still love the scoundrel who has de¬ 
serted you!” I cried, unable to restrain myself. 

“I will have no word said against him,” she re¬ 
plied gently. “Perhaps, after all, we have mis¬ 
judged him. It is time I went back to the Hotel. 
Mother is taking me to see some friends tonight, 
and—and we return to Bexhiil tomorrow.” 

That last sentence was equivalent to telling me 
not to call again upon her. 

“Why, I thought you were here for some days,” 
I exclaimed in dismay. 

“I think mother has decided to return tomor¬ 
row,” was her significant reply. 

I saw her home to Buckingham Palace Road and 
there bade her farewell, cursing myself for my 


LOVE VS. HONOR 


15 7 

frantic outburst. I had acted like a fool. Yet the 
regret I knew I ought to feel would not come. 

Next morning among my letters on the breakfast 
table was one addressed in typewriting, which I in¬ 
stantly recognized. It was from Hammersmith, 
having been sent by express messenger instead of 
being posted as the other had been. 

I recognized the uneven typing—and tore it open. 
The words I read were: 

“Will you never take warning! You yesterday enter¬ 
tained Stanley Audley’s wife at your rooms. As you have 
disregarded the caution already given you, the consequences 
vrill be upon your own head. If you value your life, you 
will relinquish the search for a man who is already dead. 

To continue is at your own peril. This is the last warn- 

• _ »» 
ing- 

I had a new and insistent problem to face. Who 
was my mysterious correspondent and why was he 
sufficiently interested to threaten me with death in 
case I refused to bandon my search for Stanley 
Audley ? 


CHAPTER XII 


STRANGE SUSPICIONS 

Try as I would I could not dismiss from my mind 
that old Doctor Feng, if he was not actually the 
writer of the strange warnings I had received, was 
in some way associated with the sender. 

But what possible motive could he have? I could 
see none. I had no sort of reason for thinking that 
he had any interest in Stanley Audley and did not 
want him discovered, or that he had the smallest 
antipathy to me personally: in fact he had invariably 
been extremely friendly. I had, it was true, sensed 
a kind of latent hostility to Thelma, but this ap¬ 
peared to be due more to the idea that I might make 
a fool of myself, rather than to any active dislike 
of her. And I could see no kind of reason why he 
should attempt to scare me by means of an anony¬ 
mous letter. Yet the suspicion stuck in my mind 
and refused to be dismissed. 

Could the sender be Stanley Audley himself? Was 
he alive, yet for some reason unable to come for¬ 
ward openly? He might have learnt something, 
and suspected more, of my friendship with Thelma, 
158 


STRANGE SUSPICIONS 


159 

and, in a fit of jealousy, taken this means of trying 
to put a stop to it. This was a possibility I could 
not ignore, yet I never, for a moment, really be¬ 
lieved it. On the other hand, I could not imagine 
any one who could possibly feel towards me the 
rancorous hate betrayed by the sending of the letters. 

I had worked myself into such a state that any 
real concentration upon business had become im¬ 
possible and at length my partner, quite justifiably, 
took a strong line. 

I had been engaged on an important right-of-way 
case in Derbyshire. A committee of villagers had 
begun an action against a local Council and I had 
been preparing instruction for the defense. Exas¬ 
perated and distracted by the evil shadow that had 
fallen across my life I was bungling the business 
badly and at length had to turn it all over to 
Hensman. 

“Really, Rex,” he said, impatiently, “this can’t go 
on. I cannot possibly do the whole work of the 
office.” 

I handed him the second warning letter. He read 
it slowly, frowning deeply the while. 

“My dear Rex,” he said, “this thing is getting 
on your nerves. Cut it, old man. Go up to Cromer 
and play golf for a week and think no more of the 
girl, or the elusive bridegroom. Don’t mix yourself 
up with the affair any more—unless—” 


160 THE CRYSTAL CLAW 

“Unless—yes, I know what you’re going to say. 
Unless I’m in love with Thelma,” I replied. “She 
has a suspicion—only a suspicion, that her husband 
is dead.” 

“And then?” he asked. “And then I suppose 
you’d marry her—the widow of a crook—” 

“How do we know he is a crook?” I asked. “We 
have no proof of it.” 

“Well, forged notes are pretty good evidence, 
aren’t they?” asked my partner. “In any case you 
are quite unfit for work and it isn’t fair on me—or 
you, either, for that matter.” 

“But who can be sending me these threatening 
messages?” I asked him. 

“Probably the wily husband himself. Wants a 
divorce, possibly. Perhaps he will come to Hens- 
man & Yelverton to file the petition!” 

“You’re not serious!” I exclaimed pettishly. 
“You don’t see what all this means to me—the up¬ 
setting of my life and of my profession.” 

“I’m perfectly serious, anyhow, in saying this 
has got to end. We can’t go on with one partner 
a passenger: things are getting behind. Cut the 
whole affair. Your friend Feng, as any man of 
sense would have been, was against it from the first. 
And how about that old invalid from Constanti¬ 
nople? Have you heard from him?” 

“Not a word. That’s a reminder. I’ll write to 


STRANGE SUSPICIONS 161 

the Ottoman Bank and see whether he is back 
again. But I don’t see how he can help.” 

“He was back in London three days ago. Look!” 
Hensman said, passing me over a cutting from the 
Times. “I cut it out intending to give it to you.” 

I took the narrow little strip and read the words: 

“Mr. Hartley Humphreys has returned from 
Constantinople to the Carlton Hotel.” 

“By Jove! I’ll call and see him,” I said. “The 
paragraph escaped me. Thanks.” 

“Well, Rex,—do be careful. This obsession 
about your bride in distress is interfering seriously 
with business. It’s all very well, but we—the firm— 
have to get on and to live.” 

His reproach, I felt, was amply justified. I 
might have quarreled with another man in my 
present state of mind, but Hensman and I had 
been friends for many years and I had a real and 
deep liking and respect for him. He was the last 
man on earth with whom I could wish to quarrel. 

“You’re quite right, old man,” I said at last. “It’s 
not fair on you. I’ll try to pull myself together. 
You don’t want us to part company?” 

“Don’t be an ass, Rex,” he replied with a laugh. 
“It isn’t so tragic as all that. But you are playing 
with fire. Suppose Audley turns up all right? You 
are getting yourself tied up in a hopeless knot and 
my advice to you, once for all, is to cut yourself 


i 62 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


adrift from the whole business and have nothing 
more to do with it. After all, Mrs. Audley is not 
in actual want and whatever may have happened 
at Miirren she has no shadow of claim on you any 
further. Certainly there is no kind of reason why 
you should run yourself into any danger for her 
sake. I can’t help thinking that there is more be¬ 
hind the matter than we know and that those let¬ 
ters are meant seriously. If you were in any way 
legitimately involved I would not suggest you should 
show the white feather—indeed, I would come in 
with you myself to the limit. But put the question 
to yourself: is there any real reason, apart from 
your infatuation for the girl—herself a married 
woman, why you should continue to take a hand in 
a very perplexing and unprofitable business. If we 
knew Audley was dead and you are really fond of 
the girl, it would be, I quite admit, a different 
thing.” 

I could not pretend that there was any flaw in 
his logic. Yet I was still restless and dissatisfied. 
I went home with him that night and dined with 
his wife and himself in their quaint little cottage 
home at Hampton. As I sat in that small low- 
pitched room—for the house was composed of 
two old-world cottages knocked into one—I envied 
my partner his domestic happiness. 

When I got back to Russell Square I sat down 


STRANGE SUSPICIONS 163 

before the big fire old Mrs. Chapman had left me 
and for the thousandth time went over the affair 
from the beginning seeking to recall any trivial 
circumstance that might throw some light upon it. 
As to the personal threat, I recklessly made up 
my mind that I would not allow it to influence me at 
all: I would not run the risk of being fooled by a 
practical joke on the one hand, or, on the other, 
weakly run away if there were any real danger. 

I decided that, in any case, I would see Dr. Feng 
Show him the letters and, if necessary, ask him 
bluntly whether he were the sender. 

So at eleven o’clock next morning the maid at 
the comfortable house in Barnes showed me into 
the Doctor’s sitting room, and a few seconds later 
Feng, with a smile of welcome, entered with out¬ 
stretched hand. 

“Well, Yelverton, so pleased to see you,” he 
said, inviting me to a chair. “And how are things 
going with you?” 

“Oh, pretty much as usual,” I replied rather 
moodily. 

I hesitated a moment, and then I took from my 
pocket the second letter of warning. 

“Look, Doctor,” I said, “I’ve received this. 
What do you think of it?” 

As he read it I watched him closely. It was evi¬ 
dent he was keenly interested. It struck me, too, 


164 THE CRYSTAL CLAW 

that he was unmistakably surprised and my sus¬ 
picion that he might have been the writer faded 
instantly. 

“I wonder who could have sent you that?” he 
exclaimed. “Somebody who is jealous of your at¬ 
tentions to little Mrs. Audley.” 

His eyes met mine, and I thought I saw a curious 
look of mystery in them. 

“I thought it possible that you might have been 
the sender,” I said, with a laugh. 

“Me!” he replied, starting. “Whatever causes 
you to suspect that? Ah!” he added a second later. 
“I notice the postmark is that of Hammersmith— 
just across the bridge! No, my dear boy, I assure 
you that I am not the sender.” 

By his manner it was plain that he was telling the 
truth. 

“I remember your many warnings, Doctor. That 
is why I suspected,” I said apologetically. 

“Well, I hope you don’t believe that I’m guilty of 
sending you such silly nonsense. Personally, if I 
received such a letter I should take no notice of it. 
You’re not alarmed, surely? It’s only some silly 
joke, perpetrated, perhaps, by one of Audley’s mys¬ 
terious and undesirable associates.” 

“I wish I knew whether Audley were alive or 
dead!” I said bitterly. “His wife has heard that 


STRANGE SUSPICIONS 165 

he is dead, yet I can find no evidence at all that this 
is so.” 

“She told you that he could never return to 
her,” Feng remarked. 

“Yes; but that is another puzzle upon which she 
refused to throw any light,” I replied. 

“Oh! by the way,” Feng exclaimed suddenly. 
“You recollect old Hartley Humphreys at Miirren? 
He wrote to me a few days ago and I went to dine 
with him at the Carlton. He’s just back from Con¬ 
stantinople, and do you know, his lameness is quite 
cured. He’s been to some German specialist who 
has put him right. He was enquiring about you.” 

“I’d like to see him again,” I said. “He is quite 
a pleasant old fellow.” 

“Go and call. He’d like to see you, I’m sure. 
He was interested in your romance, and asked me 
how it had ended. I pretended ignorance, for I did 
not know how much you would like him to learn. 
I never care to obtrude in other people’s affairs.” 

“I will certainly go and see him,” I said. “It’s 
good news that he is cured.” 

“Yes. He walks without a stick and seems reju¬ 
venated.” 

Next day I went to the Carlton and sent up my 
card, after which I was conducted to a handsome 
private sitting-room on the second floor. As I ap¬ 
proached the door, I saw disappearing along the cor- 


166 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


ridor, the back of a man whom I could have sworn 
was Harold Ruthen. I recognized him mainly by 
his walk, his grey felt hat, the well-cut brown suit 
arid the drab spats. But he had turned the corner 
and disappeared before I could make sure. 

In the room old Mr. Humphreys rose to meet me. 

“Well, Mr. Yelverton! This is indeed a pleas¬ 
ure ! I was asking the Doctor about you only the 
other day. I had mislaid your address. I’m so glad 
you’ve called.” 

“The Doctor told me you were here,” I said. 

“Excellent! Sit down. Have one of these 
Turkish cigarettes. They are real Turkish, for I 
brought them home with me. You can get no first- 
class Turkish cigarettes except in Turkey itself. As 
you know, the export of the best tobacco leaves is 
forbidden. The second quality only goes to 
Europe.” 

I took one of the thin little rolls of golden to¬ 
bacco, and lighting it pronounced it to be exquisite. 

“Well, and what you have been doing since I left 
Miirren—carrying on in your profession, I suppose ? 
And how about that charming little bride? Did her 
husband come back?” 

“No,” I replied. “He has not yet returned to 
her.” 

“What!” cried the old man, opening his eyes 
widely. “Not back! Then he deserted her and left 


STRANGE SUSPICIONS 167 

her upon your hands!’’ he added. “A rather 
dangerous situation for a young man—eh?” 

I smiled. 

“It is a tragedy,” I said, a few moments later. 
“The poor broken-hearted girl is back with her 
mother at Bexhill.” 

“And you see her sometimes, I expect.” 

“Very rarely,” I answered. “But I am still seek¬ 
ing for traces of the missing man.” 

“Curious that he didn’t come back. He seemed 
quite a nice young fellow and devoted to his wife. 
There is a mystery somewhere. I wonder what 
really happened.” 

“It is impossible to conjecture—unless he is keep¬ 
ing out of the way for some unexplained reason.” 

A moment later the door opened and Dr. Feng 
walked in. I was rather surprised at his coming up 
unannounced. When he saw me he looked annoyed 
for a moment, but only for a moment. Then he 
laughed and said— 

“Well, I didn’t expect to find you here, Yelver- 
ton!” 

“We were discussing little Mrs. Audley and her 
missing husband,” Humphreys explained. 

“Yes, some silly ass who is jealous has sent Yel- 
verton two letters of warning, threatening him with 
death if he continues his search for Audley or his 
acquaintanceship with his wife,” the doctor said. 


168 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


Humphreys laughed, and exclaimed— 

“What rubbish! The letters must be a joke.” 

“I think they are meant in earnest,” I said. 

In the meantime the doctor had taken a chair be¬ 
fore the fire, and proceeded to light his pipe. It 
struck me suddenly that, so far from being, as I had 
believed, mere hotel acquaintances, these two were 
great friends. 

This surprised me. The doctor had told me that 
he had made a formal call in response to a letter, but 
as we sat there it was plain they were on terms of 
close intimacy. 

“IVe had the agent round this morning about that 
house in Hampstead I told you about,” Humphreys 
said. “Ruthen is seeing after it for me. I fancy I 
can get it a bit cheaper than they want. As I’ll be in 
London for quite a year now, I prefer a house to 
hotel life.” 

Mention of the name of Ruthen caused me to 
prick up my ears. I had no idea that the young man 
who so constantly pestered Thelma with his ques¬ 
tions was acquainted with Humphreys. 

“Yes,” agreed the doctor. “I think you will be 
better off in a house than in hotels. I always find the 
latter very wearisome and restless.” 

“It’s quite a nice place,” Humphreys remarked. 
“A bit big perhaps, but I shall often have some rela- 


STRANGE SUSPICIONS 169 

tives staying with me. Ruthen is quite of my opinion 
that it would just suit me.” 

“So he told me yesterday,” said the doctor. “I 
met him at lunch with Andrews.” 

Here was another surprise. I learned that three 
men whom I had believed to be practically strangers 
to each other were on terms of intimate friendship. 

I remained for about an hour and then left the 
pair together. Old Humphreys begged me to call 
upon him again. 

Two days later he rang me up at the office and 
asked me to dine with him. I accepted and we had 
dinner together in the Savoy restaurant, and after¬ 
wards watched the dancing in the room below. The 
old fellow, always a pleasant companion, had cer¬ 
tainly become rejuvenated since the winter at 
Miirren. 

“Isn’t it splendid!” he remarked when I referred 
to his cure. “Old Professor Goltman, in Dresden, 
has worked a miracle. I can now get about quite 
w r ell, and I feel quite twenty years younger.” 

“You look it,” I declared, for he certainly seemed 
an entirely different man from the decrepit invalid 
who wheeled himself in his chair, and had often to 
be carried upstairs. 

Thoughts of Miirren reminded me that Harold 
Ruthen had been there for a few days at the same 
time as the invalid. Evidently they must have met 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


170 

there and their acquaintance must have been renewed 
in London, where Ruthen was now acting on 
Humphreys’ behalf in regard to the house. 

It struck me too, that if I mentioned Ruthen I 
might be thought too inquisitive. But I decided to 
watch closely, for I was beginning to grow distrust¬ 
ful of both the doctor and his friend: of Ruthen I 
had never been anything else. My suspicions were 
greatly strengthened by a curious circumstance which 
occurred about a week later. 

Though I had struggled against it I had decided to 
go down and see Thelma again, and put to her cer¬ 
tain other questions which I hoped would induce her 
to give me her entire confidence. The fact was that 
I could not keep away from her, try how I would. 

I little dreamed of the consequences that visit was 
to have! 


CHAPTER XIII 


SPUME OF THE STORM 

It WAS evening when I alighted from the train at 
the clean, spick-and-span little town of Bexhill, which 
in summer and autumn is so animated, yet in spring 
and winter is practically deserted. 

Darkness had already fallen and a rough easterly 
wind caused the leafless boughs of the trees to crack 
and sway. A heavy gale was blowing in the Channel 
that night and the boiling surf swept in upon the 
shingle. 

As I walked towards Bedford Avenue, that quiet 
select thoroughfare of detached red-brick houses 
which lies close to the sea, I noticed, on the opposite 
side of the way, two persons—a man and a girl— 
walking slowly in the direction which I was taking. 

As they passed beneath a street-lamp, I had a 
good view of them. It was Thelma walking with old 
Doctor Feng! 

I halted amazed, and instinctively drew back into 
the shadow of a hedge which formed the boundary 
of a garden. They were walking engrossed in con¬ 
versation, in the direction of Mrs. Shaylor’s house. 

I had no idea that they were on terms of friend- 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


172 

ship, and their apparently clandestine meeting was a 
complete surprise to me. Feng was bending to her, 
talking earnestly in an undertone, while she appeared 
to be listening attentively. 

There flashed across my memory a moment in 
Murren when I had seen the Doctor and Ruthen 
walking together in secret up a narrow snow-piled 
lane, though we all believed they were strangers. 
What could it possibly mean? 

I allowed the pair to go ahead of me, following 
them at a distance and watching. 

I thought I heard the girl cry “No! No!” in a dis¬ 
tressed tone. But it might have been merely my 
fancy. 

They walked together very slowly until they 
reached the corner of Bedford Avenue. Here they 
halted, and again I drew back into the shadow. 
From where I stood I could see them very plainly, 
for a lamp shone full upon them. No other person 
was in the vicinity. I could plainly see old Feng’s 
face and beard as he spoke evidently in deep earnest, 
while Thelma, wrapped in her smart squirrel coat 
and wearing the little fur toque which I had 
admired so much, stood listening. 

Suddenly she appeared to utter some appeal. 
But the old man shook his head relentlessly. He 
had apparently told her something which had stag¬ 
gered her. 


SPUME OF THE STORM 


173 

I watched, scarcely daring to draw breath, in a 
mist of uncertainty, jealousy and dread. 

How long they stood there I could not say, but it 
seemed a long time. I was utterly amazed at the 
sight of Thelma keeping what was clearly a secret 
appointment with this old fellow who had often 
warned me against a dangerous friendship. Were 
both of them, I wondered, in some plot to delude 
and play with me. Was Thelma, after all, in league 
with her husband and his mysterious friends. Was 
old Feng for some sinister reason a member of the 
same queer coterie? 

At last he took her hand and held it in his for a 
long time. Then he raised his hat and bade her fare¬ 
well. She seemed glad to get rid of his presence, for 
she turned away and flew towards her mother’s 
house at the seaward end of the silent road, while he 
turned on his heel and strode in the direction of the 
station. 

Rather than go direct to Mrs. Shaylor’s I fol¬ 
lowed the Doctor at a distance up the town until I 
saw him hurry into the station yard. Here he had 
unbuttoned his overcoat and glanced at his watch. 
Evidently a train was due. 

So I turned back, and a little later I opened the 
garden gate, walked up the path and rang the bell. 
“Jock,” Mrs. Shaylor’s Airedale barked loudly, and 
in a few moments the neat maid opened the door. 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


i74 

In the artistic little hall Thelma, who had divested 
herself of coat and hat, came forward exclaiming 
gladly— 

“Well, Mr. Yelverton! Whoever expected to see 
you tonight? Come in. Mother is out at a friend’s 
playing bridge, I think, and I am all alone.” 

She helped me off with my coat, took my hat, and 
ushered me into the charming drawing-room over¬ 
looking the sea. 

She switched on more lights and handed me her 
cigarette case, then threw herself into a big chair be¬ 
fore the fire opposite me. 

“Now, tell me what you’ve been doing,” she 
asked. “It is a real surprise to see you tonight.” 

She was, of course, ignorant that I knew of her 
secret meeting with old Feng, and I felt annoyed and 
mistrustful. 

“Well,” I said, “I have very little news and none 
of any importance. I came down hoping that you 
might have something more to tell me. My only 
news is that the other day I met another of our 
friends—Mr. Hartley Humphreys. You remem¬ 
ber the old invalid at Miirren?” 

“Oh yes, of course. He often spoke to me—a 
charming old boy. I recollect him perfectly. How 
is he?” 

“Better. His lameness is cured, and he’s quite 
young again.” 


SPUME OF THE STORM 


i75 

“And you have no other news for me,” she 
remarked meaningly. 

“You mean about Stanley. No—nothing,” I said 
regretfully. 

She sighed, and I saw again that hardening at the 
corners of her mouth which seemed to come with 
every mention of her husband. 

As for myself, my brain was in a whirl: my good 
resolutions, so easy to make when I was away from 
her, vanished like smoke. At the same time the 
suspicion I had felt when I saw her talking to Feng 
in the dark, lonely road, melted like mist before the 
sun. She was so frankly innocent and unspoiled; 
there was about her no trace of coquetry or desire to 
provoke admiration. The impression grew stronger 
and stronger as we sat chatting freely in that pretty 
drawing room, with the roar of the sea and wind 
sounding faintly through the curtained windows 
that, whatever appearances might suggest, this child- 
bride of a few days was actually alone—more hope¬ 
lessly alone in her wedded life than if she were in a 
convent. I saw myself looking into the depths of a 
soul unsullied, and for the first time, I truly believe, 
I began to understand dimly some of the feelings and 
desires that must be tearing at her heart. 

“My husband can never return to me!” Over 
and over again her significant sentence beat itself 
upon my brain. I could not understand it—I had 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


176 

not the key to the riddle it contained. Yet, for some 
inexplicable reason it seemed to fill my mind with 
hope, even though I knew that, so long as Stanley 
Audley lived, my love for his wife could never be 
more than a tormenting dream. Try to disguise it 
how I would, the girl held me, for good or ill; she 
had fascinated me utterly and completely, not by the 
purposeful acts of the courtesan, but by her own 
innate sweetness and modesty. What I had seen 
that night puzzled me beyond measure, but in the 
hour I spent with her I became assured that nothing 
on earth could shake my conviction that in every 
essential she was true and good and sweet. Time, I 
felt, would solve the riddle sooner later. 

So I sat there, foolish and fascinated, unable to 
bring myself to put any serious question to her for 
fear of causing her sorrow or anxiety. I knew, I 
felt, that I was indeed walking upon thin ice, that my 
honor was wearing thin. Yet, I realized that 
Thelma was not as many other women are, and I 
dared not again allow the feelings that ran riot in 
my heart and sweep over me and submerge once 
more my self-control. So I steeled my heart as best 
I could. 

She said no word of her meeting with the old 
doctor, who had no doubt come down from London 
to consult her, and had caught the last train back to 
Victoria. 


SPUME OF THE STORM 


177 


Presently she asked— 

“Can you get back tonight, Mr. Yelverton?” 

“No,” I replied, “I sent my bag to the Sackville. 
But now tell me, have you heard anything else re¬ 
garding Stanley?” 

She gazed at me through the haze of her cigarette 
smoke, and, after a pause, replied— 

“No, I’ve heard nothing.” 

“But, now, do be frank with me, Thelma. What 
am I to think? This affair is growing serious, and I 
know you are worried more even than I am.” 

“Mr. Yelverton, I’m absolutely bewildered. All 
I hear or find out only increases the mystery. But I 
tell you quite plainly that I begin to think—more and 
more—” 

“What?” I asked, placing my hand upon her 
shoulder. 

“I—I really can hardly believe it—but from what 
I have been told, I think Stanley is dead!” 

“Who told you that?” I demanded, for it crossed 
my mind that Feng had done no less—that that was 
the reason for his visit. And yet as I watched her I 
saw no signs of distress. Was she merely repeating 
something she had been told to say. Did she, in 
fact, hold the key to the mystery? 

“What proof have you?” I asked quickly, as she 
had not replied to my question. 


i 7 3 THE CRYSTAL CLAW 

“I have no proof, only what has been told me.” 

“By whom?” I demanded. 

“By a friend.” 

“May I not know his name ?” 

She hesitated. Then she replied with narrowed 
brows— 

“No. I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you. I am under 
a promise of secrecy.” 

“You seem to have been under some such promise 
all along,” I remarked rather petulantly I fear. Yet, 
as Thelma stood there before me under the soft 
shaded glow of the electric lamps she touched even a 
softer nerve in me. Something that was all tender¬ 
ness and half regret smote me as I gazed upon her 
lithe graceful figure like a garden lily standing alone 
in the glow of a summer sunset. More and more I 
realized my love for her and again, insistent and not 
to be denied, the thought arose within me that if her 
husband were indeed dead, I should be free to offer 
her my hand! And the thought of what might be 
merge into the wish that it should be? Was I, in¬ 
deed, a murderer at heart? 

I hope that I am neither inhuman nor heartless. 
Once, in my early youth I used to be quickly touched 
by any kind of feeling; but before I met the pale 
handsome girl who now stood before me, life had 
seemed to me cold and profitless. Thelma Audley 
was the one woman in all the world for me. 


SPUME OF THE STORM 


179 

That is why I hesitated to press her more closely 
concerning her informant. She was dry-eyed; could 
she really believe that Stanley was dead? 

I began to suspect that the clever old Doctor had, 
all along, for some reason I could not even guess at, 
misled me into a belief that he was antagonistic to¬ 
wards her, while he was, in fact, secretly her friend. 
She, who had fondly imagined that the riotous and 
exuberant happiness that had commenced in Miirren 
was permanent, had been sadly disillusioned by a 
man’s love that had only blossomed like the almond 
or the may. 

She handed me her big silver box of cigarettes, 
for she, like many modern girls, was an inveterate 
smoker. I took one and she lit it for me with a gay 
expression in her eyes which seemed to belie the 
tragic news she had imparted to me. 

That well-warmed room was indeed cozy and 
comfortable, for outside it was a wild night in the 
Channel. The heavy roar of the waves as they beat 
upon the beach reached us, while through the win¬ 
dow—for the curtains had not been drawn— 
could be seen the regular flashes of the Royal Sover¬ 
eign Lightship warning ships from the perilous rocks 
off Beach Head, and here and there in the blackness 
were tiny points of light showing that the fishing 
fleet were out from Rye and Hastings. The very at- 


i8o THE CRYSTAL CLAW 

mosphere seemed to be changed with the wild spin¬ 
drift of the story sea. 

I felt that though she was holding back certain 
facts concerning her husband—dead or alive. Per¬ 
haps she was doing so out of consideration to us 
both. Try as I would, I could get no further in¬ 
formation from her. She would tell me no more 
concerning her suspicion of Stanley’s death, and 
later that night as I trudged along the storm-swept 
promenade to the hotel close by, I confess that I felt 
both baffled by Feng’s visit and annoyed at Thelma’s 
dogged persistence in refusing to tell me anything. 

Next afternoon, while I was sitting in my office in 
Bedford Row, the telephone rang and a woman’s 
voice asked whether I was Mr. Yelverton. I took it 
to be a client and replied in the affirmative, where¬ 
upon the speaker said: 

“I’m Marigold Day. Can I come along and see 
you, Mr. Yelverton?” 

“Certainly,” I said. “I’ll be in till five. Is it any¬ 
thing important?” 

“Yes. It is rather, I’ll come along in a taxi,” and 
she rang off hurriedly. 

About a quarter of an hour later my clerk showed 
in the pretty mannequin from Carille’s, and when she 
was seated and we were alone, she said— 

“I—I want to tell you something about Mr. Aud- 

ley. They say the poor boy is dead!” 


SPUME OF THE STORM 181 

“Who says so?” I asked. 

“Harold Ruthen. I met him in the Piccadilly 
Grill Room last night with a girl friend of mine, and 
he called me aside and told me.” 

“What exactly did he tell you?” I asked eagerly. 

“Well, he said that Audley had met with a motor 
accident somewhere in Touraine, and had been taken 
to the hospital at Saumur, where he had lingered 
for four days, and died there. He asked me to keep 
the matter a secret. Why—I don’t know. But if 
the poor boy is dead I really can’t see any object in 
keeping the matter a secret, do you?” 

“No,” I replied. 

“Well, I thought you, being his friend, would like 
to know,” said the girl, sadly. She made a pathetic 
figure, for she had been fond of Audley, and I knew 
that under her merry careless Bohemian ways she 
was capable of deep feeling. 

I took her out to tea and questioned her further 
about Ruthen, and the story he had told her. 

She had no knowledge of old Mr. Humphreys, or 
of Doctor Feng, but she was convinced by Ruthen’s 
manner that what he had told her was the truth. 
Besides, as the young fellow had been in such active 
search for his friend there seemed no motive why he 
should declare that he had died. 

Was it from Harold Ruthen that Thelma had 
gained the news? Or had Ruthen told old Mr. 


I 82 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


Humphreys, who in turn, had told Feng, who had 
gone to Bexhill and given her the report? 

But was it really true? 

I expressed my doubts. 

“Well, Mr. Yelverton. I’ve only told you exactly 
what Harold told me. He added the words: ‘After 
all, poor Stanley’s death will prevent a good deal 
leaking out. His lips are closed, and it means 
security to several persons.’ I wonder what he 
meant?” 

“I wonder! He must have been in possession of 
some secret which closely affected certain persons,” 
I said. “And probably Ruthen is one of those who 
now feel secure.” 

“Perhaps. Who knows?” the girl remarked re¬ 
flectively as she crushed her cigarette end into the 
ash-tray and rose to leave. “At any rate, I thought 
you would like to know, as you seem so interested in 
Stanley.” 

“I thanked her, and left her at the corner of 
Chancery Lane in order to return to my office. 

Saumur! I knew that it was an old-world town 
—the center of a wine-growing country—somewhere 
on the broad Loire. 

I searched among my books, looked it up, and 
found that it was two hundred and seventy miles 
from Paris by the Orleans Railway, and that if I 
traveled by the through express, I could go direct 


SPUME OF THE STORM 183 

by way of St. Pierre-des-Corps and Savonnieres. I 
resolved to make a swift journey out there and en¬ 
quire for myself. 

Next morning I left London and in the afternoon 
of the following day I entered a small hotel, the 
Budan, at the end of the long stone bridge which 
spans the Loire at Saumur. I lost no time in making 
my inquiries in the old Huguenot town, famed for 
its sparkling wines. At the Prefecture of Police I 
saw the Prefect himself, a brisk little man with a 
stubble of white hair, most courteous and attentive. 

An automobile accident, and fatal? He would 
have the records examined, if I would return next 
morning. 

I dined, spent the evening in the Cafe de la Paix 
adjoining the Post Office, and next morning returned 
to the Prefect. 

Again he received me most courteously in his 
barely furnished office, and when I was seated he 
rang his bell, whereupon an inspector in plain clothes 
entered with some papers in his hand. 

“It is, I find, true, monsieur, that an Englishman 
named Audley, Christian name Stanley, native of 
London, was motoring with two men named Armand 
Raves, and Henry Chest on the road between Lan- 
geais and Cinq-Mars, when, in turning a sharp cor¬ 
ner, they ran into a wall, and the Englishman was 
injured. He was brought to the St. Jean Hospital 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


184 

here, put to bed unconscious and died four days 
later. In his pocket was found a wallet containing a 
number of notes of the Banque d’Angleterre of five 
pounds and fifty pounds. They were sent by us to 
the Banque de France to hold for any claim by rela¬ 
tives, but curious enough, they were at once recog¬ 
nized as forgeries l 1 ’ 

“Forgeries!” I gasped, pretending ignorance. 

“Yes, Monsieur,” said the Prefect of Police, while 
the Inspector spread out his papers on his Chief’s 
desk. 

“This telegram, Monsieur, is from the Bank of 
England, in London, sent through Scotland Yard, 
and says, ‘Numbers of notes reported in telegram 
of 5th are part of South American forgeries. 
Kindly send them to us for record.’ They have been 
sent to London,” he added. 

“But the men who were in the car with Mr. Aud- 
ley. Where are they?” 

“Ah! Monsieur! We do not know,” replied the 
shrewd old French official. We only know the 
names and addresses they gave to the agent of 
police.” 

“The addresses they gave proved false, Monsieur 
le Prefect,” remarked the inspector. “But we pho¬ 
tographed them all—including the dead man,—and 
we have a hue-and-cry out for them.” 


SPUME OF THE STORM 185 

“You have a photograph of the dead man!” I 
cried. 

“Yes, Monseiur. It is on file among our photo¬ 
graphs.” 

“Cannot I see it?” I asked. 

“Tomorrow, when we shall have further prints. 
Ours have been sent on to Paris.” 

“I would very much like to see it,” I said. “I am 
a lawyer from London, and my inquiry concerns a 
strange string of circumstances. This fact that 
forged bank-notes were found upon the man who 
died is truly amazing.” 

“It may be amazing, but it is nevertheless a fact,” 
declared the old official. 

“But did the injured man make any statement be¬ 
fore he died?” I asked. 

The inspector adjusted his pince-nez and searched 
the dossier. 

“I think he did,” he said. “Ah! yes! Here we 
are,” and he took out a sheet of paper. “On the 
morning before he died he spoke to Soeur Yvonne, 
and uttered these words in English, ‘I am very 
sorry for all I have done. I would never have done 
the bad turns to Harry or to George unless it had 
been to gain money. But I could not resist it. They 
made me join in the scheme of printing false bank¬ 
notes, though I warned them of the peril. I know I 
must die, for the doctor told me so this morning. 


186 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


My only wish is that little Thelma may be made 
happy. That is my only wish. Let her discover the 
truth!’ Who ‘little Thelma’ may be, monsieur, we 
have, of course, no means of knowing.” 

“And was that the only statement made by Stan¬ 
ley Audley immediately before he died,” I asked. 

“Yes, monsieur. He died three hours later,” re¬ 
plied the inspector. 

“He said nothing else—nothing more concerning 
Thelma?” I asked anxiously. 

“Those words were the only ones he uttered, 
monsieur,” replied the inspector. “It is fortunate 
that Soeur Yvonne knows English, having been a 
nursing sister in London. Of course, there is no 
doubt that all three men were making a tour of 
France distributing spurious English notes, for, 
within a few days of the accident, many forged notes 
were brought to the notice of the police in Nantes, 
Orleans, Marseilles and Bordeaux. All of them had 
been changed into French notes, and no doubt in that 
car was a large sum of money.” 

“Was nothing else of interest found in the dead 
man’s possession?” 

“Nothing except a card-case, a silver cigarette 
case, a wallet containing 220 francs, the return half 
of a first-class ticket from Brussels to Marseilles 
and a tram-ticket taken in Barcelona.” 


SPUME OF THE STORM 187 

I left, promising to call again next day, and 
wandered out upon the broad bridge that spans the 
Loire and affords such a splendid view up the broad 
valley. What could the dying man have meant by 
that reference to Thelma? 

I spent a very anxious day, trying to idle away the 
time in the little museum in the Hotel de Ville and 
inspecting the treasures of the ancient church of St. 
Pierre. In the afternoon I watched the training of 
a number of cavalry officers on the exercise ground, 
and after dinner went to a cinema. 

Next morning I returned eagerly to the Prefect 
and the inspector appeared with several photo¬ 
graphs. One showed the wrecked car at the scene 
of the accident and beside it stood two men. 

“They are the men Raves and Chester,” remarked 
the inspector. 

“Who is the one leaning against the car. The one 
with the cap in his hand?” I asked. 

“That is the Englishman, Chester.” 

And I had recognized him instantly as Harold 
Ruthen! 

“And the dead man?” 

He showed me a picture of a man taken with his 
head upon a pillow. But it was not that of Stanley 
Audley, but of a round-faced man with a small 
moustache—evidently the man who, when home in 


188 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


Half Moon Street had assumed the name of Audley, 
while the real Audley lived as Mr. Graydon. 

Sight of those photographs staggered me. What 
message did the false Audley wish to convey to 
Thelma? Was it concerning the whereabouts or 
movements of her husband? 

So Ruthen had been one of the rapidly moving 
party which had gone to France in order to pass the 
spurious notes, and with such disastrous results. It 
was true that Stanley Audley had been killed, but he 
was not the man of whom I was in such diligent 
search, not the man to whom Thelma had been 
married! 

That afternoon I sent a telegram to Thelma at 
Bexhill, assuring her that her husband was not dead, 
and that same evening I left Saumur for London. 

Next evening when I arrived at Russell Square, I 
saw upon my table one of those now familiar en¬ 
velopes. It had been sent by express messenger 
from Crouch Hill, and not from Hammersmith. On 
tearing it open I read— 

“You are still beating the wind! As you will not heed 
any warning and are still trying to meddle with affairs that 
do not concern you, do not be surprised if you receive a 
sudden shock. Your visit to Saumur was a perilous one for 
more reasons than one. The truth is too deeply hidden for 
you ever to discover it. Why court death as you are daily 
doing ?” 


SPUME OF THE STORM 189 

So my enemies already knew of my rapid journey 
to the Loire, though I had not told a soul, except 
my partner Hensman! Evidently a close watch was 
being kept upon my movements. 

Ruthen was back in town, glad I suppose to escape 
from a very embarrassing position, for it was clear 
that both men had immediately made themselves 
scarce, leaving their friend to his fate. 

At the office next day I told Hensman of what I 
had discovered, and showed him the note that I had 
received on the previous night. 

“Really, Rex, the puzzle seems to grow more and 
more complicated every day, doesn’t it? The 
change of names, from one man to the other seems 
so very curious. And yet, of course, Audley must 
have married in his own name.” 

“But that remark about Little Thelma,” I said. 
“The fellow just before he died expressed a hope 
that she might be happy and that was his only wish. 
‘Let her discover the truth’ he said.” 

“Which plainly shows that, whatever we may sur¬ 
mise, Thelma does not know the truth,” my partner 
remarked, leaning back in his writing chair. 

With that I agreed. Yet our discovery threw no 
light on the friendship between the two men who 
had met at Miirren, the Doctor and old Humphreys; 
their friendship with the foppish young fellow who 
was a friend of Stanley’s and was now proved to be 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


190 

one of a gang of forgers, and on Thelma’s secret 
friendship with old Feng. 

I rang up Bexhill half-an-hour later, and over the 
’phone told Thelma that I had ascertained definitely 
that the man fatally injured in the motor accident in 
France was not her husband. 

She drew a long sigh of relief. 

“It is really awfully good of you, Mr. Yelverton, 
to take such a keen interest in me and go to all that 
trouble.” 

“I know the truth as far as the report of Stanley’s 
accident goes—not the whole truth, Mrs. Audley,” I 
said. “I only wish I did. Won’t you give me *the 
key to the situation.” 

I heard her laugh lightly, a strange hollow laugh 
it was. 

“Ah! I only wish—I only wish I dare,” she re¬ 
plied. Then she added, “Good-bye. What you have 
told me relieves my mind greatly and also places a 
new complexion upon things. Good-bye, Mr. Yelver¬ 
ton—and a thousand thanks. Mother is here and 
sends her best wishes.” 

I acknowledged them, and we were then cut off. 


CHAPTER XIV 


IN THE NIGHT 

Autumn was approaching. The long vacation 
had begun, and London lay sweltering beneath a 
heat-wave in the early days of August. Legal busi¬ 
ness was nearly at a stand-still, and Hensman with 
his wife had gone for three weeks to that charming 
spot amid the Welsh mountains, the Oakwood Park 
Hotel, near Conway in North Wales. Half the 
clubs were enveloped in holland swathings for their 
annual cleaning. Pall Mall and St. James’s Street 
were deserted, for the world of the West End 
seemed to be in flight, northward bound for the 
“Twelfth,” or crossing to the French coast. 

At the office I was simply “carrying on” with such 
occasional matters as demanded immediate atten¬ 
tion. But legal business was almost dead, half the 
staffs in London, our own included, were away. The 
time hung heavily on the heads of those left in town. 
I found life insupportably dull and had no energy, 
when the day’s scant duties were over, to do more 
than crawl back to my dull room in Russell Square 
and sit sweltering in the torrid heat. 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


192 

In accordance with the usual arrangement, I had 
taken my holiday in the winter and was looking after 
the office while Hensman was away. He was one of 
the “sun-birds”; the delights of snow and frost had 
no attraction for him, while to me the hot weather 
was trying in the highest degree. Heat for him— 
cold for me! 

Bedford Row in August is indeed a sorry place. 
The great wheels of the law machine almost cease 
their slow remorseless grinding; lawyers and clients 
seem able to forget their troubles and worries for a 
brief spell. I lounged my days away, heartily wish¬ 
ing myself elsewhere, but, with the help of the only 
lady secretary left, perfunctorily getting through 
such work as could not be shelved. 

Late one afternoon, after an unusually busy day 
—for I had instructed counsel to appear for a client 
who was to be charged with a serious motoring of¬ 
fence at Brighton—I had risen from my chair and 
was about to take my hat and leave, when the tele¬ 
phone rang. 

On answering I found a trunk call had come 
through from a village called Duddington, near 
Stamford, in Lincolnshire. The speaker was a 
young man who gave his name as Edward Pearson, 
the son of one of our oldest clients, a large land- 
owner in the district. 

Having told me his name he said: 


IN THE NIGHT 


i 93 

“I wonder if you could come to Stamford tonight, 
Mr. Yelverton? My father is ill and has expressed 
his wish to add a codicil to the will you made for him 
three years ago.” 

“Is it a matter of urgency?” I asked. “My part¬ 
ner is away, and it is a little difficult for me to leave 
London.” 

“Yes. I fear it is urgent,” replied my client’s 
son. “My father had a stroke about three days ago 
on his return from London. The Doctor declares it 
to be a serious matter. Of course I won’t ask you to 
come over to Duddington tonight, but you could get 
to Stamford tonight, and sleep at the Cross Keys. 
I’ll call for you in the car at nine tomorrow morn¬ 
ing. I’d be so grateful if you can do this. Will 
you?” 

I hesitated. 

“You can catch a convenient train from Kings 
Cross tonight. Change at Essendine. It takes 
about three hours,” he added. 

“Is your father in grave danger?” I asked. 

“He was, but he seems a trifle better now. He is 
asleep, and the Doctor says he is not to be awakened. 
So we’ll see how he is in the morning.” 

“Did he express a wish to make the codicil?” I 
asked. 

“Yes. He wants to leave the Gorselands to my 


i 9 4 THE CRYSTAL CLAW 

brother Alfred, instead of to mother,” was the 
reply. 

“Very well,” I said, rather reluctantly, for as a 
matter of fact I had been looking forward to dining 
with old Mr. Humphreys that evening. “I’ll meet 
you at the Cross Keys at Stamford in the morning. 
Good-bye, Mr. Pearson.” 

Having put down the receiver I resolved to ring 
up Hartley Humphreys at the Carlton, and did so. 

“I’m sorry you’re called away,” the old financier 
replied. “But in any case come along now, and have 
a cocktail. You won’t leave London till after 
dinner.” 

I took a taxi along to the hotel and found him 
alone in his private sitting-room. Together we took 
dry martinis, and while I smoked one of his exquisite 
Turkish cigarettes I explained the reason for my 
sudden visit to Lincolnshire. 

“Well,” he laughed. “It all means costs to you, I 
suppose. And after all I believe you have a dining 
car to Peterborough, so the journey is not a very dif¬ 
ficult one.” 

“No. But I wanted to keep my appointment with 
you tonight,” I said. 

The cheery old fellow laughed, saying:— 

“My dear Yelverton, don’t think of that where 
business is concerned. Come and dine another night 
—the night after tomorrow. Feng is coming. 


IN THE NIGHT 


195 

We’ll have dinner at the Ritz for a change, and go 
to a show afterwards. Any further news of your 
little bride ?” 

“None,” I replied. 

“Heard nothing?” he asked, looking at me curi¬ 
ously, as though he held me in some suspicion I 
thought. Did he know of my visit to Saumur and 
my discovery concerning his factotum, Harold 
Ruthen ? 

“Nothing,” was my reply. His attitude was 
always curious whenever he made any reference to 
Thelma. 

In reply to a further question as to when I should 
return, I told him that I must be back in London by 
four o’clock on the morrow as I had an important 
appointment regarding the transfer of some London 
property—a side of the business which Hensman 
usually looked after. 

I smoked a second cigarette and rose. He 
gripped my hand warmly before I left and repeated 
his invitation. 

“Feng is very fond of you,” he added, “and we’ll 
have a real pleasant evening together.” 

Back again at Russell Square I looked at the time¬ 
table, dressed leisurely and packing a suit-case, took 
the evening train from Kings Cross and having had 
my dinner between London and Peterborough ar- 


i 9 6 THE CRYSTAL CLAW 

rived at the ancient little town of Stamford in the 
late evening. 

It was, I found, a place of quaint crooked streets 
and old churches, dim alleyways and a curious square 
with an ancient Butter Market close by the old- 
world hotel, the Cross Keys, once one of the famous 
posting-houses on the Great North Road. 

Beyond three or four motorists and commercial 
travelers, I seemed to be about the only person in 
the hotel, a roomy comfortable place with many 
paneled rooms, and polished floors. About it was 
that air of cozy comfort and cheery welcome such as 
one finds to perfection in the too few old English 
posting-inns. The coffee-room was bounded by huge 
mahogany buffets laden with silver, and the drawing¬ 
room was devoid of that gimcrack furniture which 
one finds in most modern hotels. 

My room, too, was big and spacious, with a win¬ 
dow looking out upon the great courtyard into which 
the stage coaches on their way from London to Edin¬ 
burgh used to lumber before the days of motors. 
Yet even there I saw a row of stables and was in¬ 
formed by the “boots” that in winter a good many 
London gentlemen stabled their hunters there. 

In the twilight, having nothing better to do, I 
strolled out of the town along a path which led 
through meadows beside the Welland river where 
many people seemed to be enjoying the fresh air 


IN THE NIGHT 


197 

after the unusual heat of the day, while many anglers 
sat patiently upon the banks. 

It was dark when I returned to the hotel, and 
passing into the smoking-room I found several 
men there, unmistakably commercial travelers. I 
chatted with one of them, a tall, rugged-faced, 
sharp-nose man in tweeds who spoke with a full 
Yorkshire burr, and whose business was undoubt¬ 
edly “woolens.” 

“I come here four times a year,” he told me. 
“This hotel is one of the best in the Midlands. The 
Bell at Barnby Moor is excellent, but a bit out of 
the way for us. We have to stay in Doncaster. 
Half our game is to know where to go, and how to 
live. A commercial’s life is a pretty tough one now¬ 
adays, with high prices in traveling and cut prices 
in the trade.” 

He seemed a particularly affable person, though 
his manner possessed that business-like briskness 
which characterizes all men “on the road.” I set 
him down as a man who could sell a tradesman 
nearly anything, whether he desired it or not—one 
of those particularly “smart” men found as 
travelers in every trade, shrewd, clever and far- 
seeing, yet suave ambassadors of commerce who are 
invaluable to wholesalers and manufacturers. 

“I’ve had bad luck here today,” he said. “I was 
kept over-night in Peterborough and got here at 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


198 

eleven o’clock. Started out and forgot that it is 
their early-closing day. So I’m compelled to be here 
tomorrow instead of getting on to Bourne. One 
can work this town well in a whole day—not less.” 

I noticed that his face was scarred and furrowed. 
He had no doubt led a hard life, and from his erect 
bearing I thought that he might possibly have risen 
to the rank of sergeant-major during the war. His 
keen black eyes seemed to search everywhere, while 
his nose was almost hawk-like. His cravat too, at¬ 
tracted me. It was of soft black silk, neatly tied, 
but in it was an onyx scarf-pin, oval and dark with a 
thin white line around the edge. It reminded me 
most forcibly of a miniature human eye. 

As we sat together he gossiped about the bad state 
of trade, the craze for cheap dress materials and the 
consequent low prices. 

“Things are horribly bad in Bradford,” he de¬ 
clared. “Most of the mills are only working half¬ 
time. In the cotton trade it is just the same. Old¬ 
ham has been very hard hit, now that the boom has 
passed. Why, when that boom in cotton-mills was 
at its height, men became semi-millionaires in a single 
week. I know a man who was a clerk living in a 
seven-room house* and keeping no servants who 
made a clear profit of a quarter of a million within 
six weeks, and he made a further hundred thousand 
in the same year. He’s just bought a pretty estate 


IN THE NIGHT 


199 

in Devonshire. And now the slump has come and 
other people are bearing the burden which the lucky 
ones unloaded on them.” 

He took a cigarette case from his pocket and 
offered me one. I took it and for a further quarter 
of an hour we smoked. 

“Yes,” he said. “This is a pretty comfortable 
place. IVe known it for twenty years—and it’s al¬ 
ways been the same. Old Brimelow, who used to be 
the landlord, was a queer old fellow. He’s dead 
now. He used to make us some wonderful rum- 
punch in the commercial room at Christmas-time. 
His father kept the place before him, and he could 
remember the stage-coaches, the York coach, the 
Lincoln coach, the Birmingham coach and the Edin¬ 
burgh coach, and tell tales of all of them.” 

“Of highwaymen?” I asked laughing. 

“No. Not exactly that,” he said merrily. “But 
sometimes he told us tales of hold-ups that he had 
heard from his father. Why, King George the 
Third once got snowed up at the Colly Weston 
cross-roads and slept there. Oh! this is a very his¬ 
toric old place.” 

After lighting another of his cigarettes I left my 
entertaining companion and ascended the broad oak 
staircase to my room, which was on the first floor. 

It was a fine old apartment, three sides of which 
were paneled in dark oak. The floor, on which a 


200 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


few rugs were strewn, was of polished oak and 
creaked as I entered, while through the open window 
the moon cast a long white beam. 

After a glance out upon the silent courtyard I half 
closed the window, drew down the blind and lit the 
gas. Then, having turned the key in the door, I 
undressed and retired. 

At first I could not sleep because I heard the 
scuttling of a mouse or rat behind the paneling. I 
lay thinking of Thelma. A momentary wish, wicked 
as a venomous snake, and swift as fire darted 
through my thoughts. I wished that Stanley Audley 
were dead. With such thoughts uppermost in my 
mind I suddenly experienced a heavy drowsiness and 
I must have at last dozed off. 

I was awakened by feeling something cold upon 
my mouth. I struggled, only to find that I was 
breathless and helpless. I tried to cry out, but could 
not. My breath came and went in short quick gasps. 
Was it possible that I had left the gas turned on and 
was being asphyxiated! 

I struggled and fought for life, but the cold 
Thing, whatever it was, pressed upon my mouth. 

In the darkness I strove to shout for help, but no 
sound escaped my lips, while my limbs were so 
paralyzed that I could not raise my hands to my 
face. 


IN THE NIGHT 


201 


I recollect struggling frantically to free myself 
from the horrible and mysterious influence that was 
upon me. I tried frantically to extricate myself 
from that deadly embrace, but was helpless as a 
babe. I thought I heard the sound of heavy breath¬ 
ing, but was not quite sure. Was I alone—or was 
someone in the room? 

My lips seemed to burn, my brain was on fire, a 
wild madness seized me and then the cold Thing left 
my lips. 

I must have fainted, for all consciousness was sud¬ 
denly blotted out. 

When I came to myself I heard strange faint 
whisperings around me. Before my eyes was a 
blood-red haze and I felt in my mouth and throat a 
burning thirst. 

I breathed heavily once or twice, I remember, and 
then I lapsed again into unconsciousness. How long 
I remained, I know not. I must have been inert and 
helpless through many hours. Then I became half 
conscious of some liquid being wafted into my face, 
as though by a scent-spray, and once I seemed to 
hear Thelma’s soft, sweet voice. But it was faint 
and indistinct, sounding very far away. 

I fell back into a dreamy stupor. Yet before my 
eyes was always that scarf pin like a tiny human eye 
which had been worn by my commercial friend. It 


202 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


had attracted me as we had gossiped, and as is so 
often the case its impression had remained upon my 
subconscious mind. 

I lay wondering. Things assumed fantastic 
shapes. I could still hear that scuttling of rats be¬ 
hind the old paneling, and I recollected the narrow 
streak of moonlight which fell across the room from 
between the blind and the window-frame. I recol¬ 
lected too, the sharp brisk voice of my commercial 
friend, and moreover I once more saw, shining be¬ 
fore me, that tiny gem like a human eye. 

After a lapse of quiet I tried again to rouse my¬ 
self. The room was still dark, and I listened again 
for the scuttling of the rats behind the paneling, but 
the only sounds I heard seemed to be faint whisper¬ 
ings. Then suddenly I seemed to hear drowsy 
sounds of bells, like the sweet beautiful carillon that 
I had heard from the tower at Antwerp. 

I lay there bewildered and alarmed. I thought of 
Thelma—thoughts of her obsessed me. I did not 
know whether to believe in her or not. Was I a 
fool? In those dreamy moments I remembered my 
last visit to Bexhill when I had questioned her. She 
had trembled, I remember, and her lustrous eyes had 
scanned me with what now seemed to my tortured 
brain a remorseless and merciless scrutiny. 

I recollected too, her words:— 


IN THE NIGHT 


203 

“I am sorry, but I can’t tell you. I am under the 
promise of secrecy.” 

The whole enigma was beyond me: in my half 
conscious state, the pall of a great darkness upon me, 
I felt my sense strung to breaking point. 


CHAPTER XV 


MORE DISCLOSURES 

Ten minutes later I grew conscious of unfamiliar 
surroundings. 

I was no longer in that dark old room at the Cross 
Keys, but in a bright airy little room enameled in 
white. I was lying upon a narrow iron bedstead and 
my nostrils were full of the pungent odor of some 
disinfectant—I think it’was iodoform. 

As I looked up I saw four faces peering anxiously 
down into mine. The first was that of a grey- 
bearded man in gold-rimmed spectacles, the second 
was that of an elderly nurse in uniform, the third I 
recognized as old Feng—and the fourth—I could 
scarce believe my eyes—was Thelma herself! 

“Thelma!” I cried eagerly, raising my hand to¬ 
wards her. 

“No! Keep quiet!” ordered the spectacled man 
who seemed to be a doctor. “Listen! Can you 
understand me. Do you hear what I say?” he asked 
in a harsh voice. 

“Yes, I—I do,” I faltered. 

“Then keep quiet. Sleep, and don’t worry about 
204 


MORE DISCLOSURES 205 

anything—if you want to get well. You’re very ill 
—and you’ve been very foolish. But if you obey 
me you will soon be all right again.” 

“But—but Thelma—Mrs. Audley,” I asked 
eagerly. 

“She’s here—by your side. Don’t worry, Mr. 
Yelverton, go to sleep and you’ll be quite right again 
soon—quite right!” 

I looked at his great gold-rimmed spectacles. 
They seemed to be magnified in my abnormal sight. 

“But,” I asked boldly. “Who are you?” 

“My name is Denbury—Doctor Denbury,” was 
the old fellow’s reply. 

“But why are you here with me in Cross Keys?” 

“You’re not in the Cross Keys now. You are in 
the Burghley Hospital. The police brought you 
here, and sent for me.” 

“The police!” I gasped, staring at those large 
round spectacles, whilst next moment I shifted my 
gaze upon Feng. “Look here Doctor Feng,” I said 
addressing him. “What does all this mean?” 

“Well, Yelverton, it is all a puzzle to us. Why 
did you come here to Stamford and attempt to com¬ 
mit suicide?” 

“What?” I cried in fierce indignation despite my 
weakness. “What are you saying? Suicide—why, 
such a thing never entered my mind!” 

Feng’s face wore a strange, cynical smile. Sud- 


206 THE CRYSTAL CLAW 

denly I felt he was not my friend; for the moment I 
hated him. 

“Well, the facts are all too apparent,” he said 
dubiously. “Whatever could have possessed you? 
You’ve had a very near squeak of it, I can tell you.” 

“Yes, Mr. Yelverton,” said Thelma, bending over 
me till I saw her dear face peering eagerly into mine. 
“Yes. They thought you were dead. Why did you 
doit? Why? Tell us” 

“Do it?” I gasped astounded. “I did nothing. 
I—I only slept at the Cross Keys before going out 
to Duddington to see a client.” 

“But why did you come to Stamford,” asked the 
girl, bending over me till I could feel her breath 
upon my cheek. 

“No! I forbid any further questions,” exclaimed 
the bearded old doctor in the gold spectacles. 
“Enough! He must rest, Mrs. Audley.” 

Then I thought I caught sight of another man—a 
policeman in uniform! 

A few moments passed when suddenly the doctor 
pressed a glass to my lips. 

“Come. Take this,” he persuaded. “It will put 
you to sleep again, and you’ll awake a new man.” 

That strange cold pressure on my lips recalled 
the Thing which had gripped me in the darkness, 
and I shut my mouth resolutely. But he spoke so 
kindly, declaring that it would do me good, that 


MORE DISCLOSURES 


207 


inert and almost helpless as I was, I obeyed him. 
The draught tasted of cloves, but was terribly bitter. 

“Water!” I gasped, and immediately he held 
some to my fevered lips. I took a great gulp with 
avidity. Then I felt drowsy, and again lapsed into 
unconsciousness. 

When once more I opened my eyes my senses 
seemed quite normal. I could see clearly, and I 
could think and reason. 

I found Thelma and old Feng again bending over 
me, gazing very earnestly into my face. 

“Where am I,” I asked eagerly. “What has 
happened?” 

“Surely you know what has happened,” replied 
Thelma, “why did you attempt such a thing?” 

“Attempt what?” I demanded. 

“To take your life as we have already told you. 
You took poison, and you’ve only been saved in the 
very nick of time!” 

“It’s a lie,” I declared angrily. “I never took 
anything. What do you mean?” 

“Well,” said Feng. “You were found in the 
morning with your door locked, and as you didn’t 
appear at noon they broke it open and you were 
discovered insensible with the empty bottle beside 
you and a note.” 

“A note!” I cried utterly bewildered. 


208 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


“Yes. You shall see it later on. It is addressed 
to the Coroner, apologizing for your act!” 

I held my breath. 

“But, really,” I declared astounded, “you’re jok¬ 
ing! I never wrote a note, and I certainly did not 
attempt to commit suicide!” 

“Well, there are the facts,” said Thelma. “The 
police brought you here and they found your name 
on your cards, and in the letter you left. The affair 
got into the papers, and I saw it. So I telegraphed 
to Doctor Feng, and we both came here at once.” 

“He must not be excited,” said the medical man 
in glasses. 

“Keep quiet, Yelverton,” urged Feng. “You shall 
know all that has happened in due course. You owe 
your life to Doctor Denbury’s efforts. He gave you 
an antidote just in time!” 

“But I did not write a letter, and I did not take 
any poison,” I protested impatiently. 

“Keep quiet,” old Feng urged. “It will all be 
explained in due course.” 

“It is so utterly mysterious!” I cried, half raising 
myself. 

“Yes, I agree,” said Feng. “The doctor has 
found that you are also suffering from the after¬ 
effects of some drug.” 

“Does your head pain you very much now?” in¬ 
quired the doctor. 


MORE DISCLOSURES 209 

“Not so much,” was my reply. “But my throat is 
very bad.” 

“I expect so,” he said, and he crossed the room, 
returning with a draught which, on being swallowed, 
proved soothing. “Yes,” he went on, “you’ve had a 
very narrow escape. I caught you just in time. I 
presume that you must have swallowed the stuff 
about three o’clock on the morning before last. 
When I first saw you I gave you up as hopeless. 
But by sheer luck I was able to diagnose what you 
were suffering from. Funnily enough it was the drug 
you took first that saved you. But,” he added coax- 
ingly, “go to sleep again, and when you wake up tell 
us all about it. Your mind will then be quite clear.” 

“Yes,” said Thelma, whose beautiful face peered 
anxiously into my own. “Go to sleep now, Mr. Yel- 
verton. You must not exert yourself too much.” 
And her soft cool hand smoothed my brow. 

I remained silent and a few minutes later I had 
again fallen asleep. 

It was night when I found myself listening to an 
astounding story. What Thelma told me was to the 
effect that, on the door of my room being forced, it 
was found that I had swallowed something from a 
bottle which was lying on the floor, while on the 
dressing-table lay a note addressed to the Coroner 
and signed, “Rex Yelverton.” 

Feng showed me the note. It was upon half a 


210 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


sheet of the hotel note-paper, but written in an un¬ 
familiar and rather uneducated hand. 

“I never wrote that!” I protested, feeling now 
quite better, after I had swallowed a glass of milk. 
“And I certainly did not take any poison.” 

“I knew it was not in your handwriting!” Feng 
said, quietly. “As soon as Mrs. Audley telegraphed 
to me I at once met her and we came on here to¬ 
gether. But, tell me, how did it come about that you 
swallowed that stuff? It hasn’t been analyzed yet, 
so Doctor Denbury is not quite certain what it is. 
He, however, has made a guess, because of its smell. 
But apparently you were drugged also. Tell me 
exactly what you recollect about it. I want to know 
everything, Yelverton.” 

I tried to compose myself and reflect. 

Presently, while he and Thelma sat side by side, 
I told them pretty much as I have written here, ex¬ 
actly what had happened since my arrival at the 
Cross Keys. 

Feng listened very attentively without uttering a 
word. Now and then he grunted, but whether owing 
to uncertainty or satisfaction I could gain no idea. 
His attitude puzzled me sorely. I could not recon¬ 
cile his secret friendship with Thelma, with his pre¬ 
tended hostility. Even now, in spite of the care he 
was taking of me, I wondered whether he was my 
friend, and in summing up all the past circumstances 


MORE DISCLOSURES 211 

I came to the conclusion that he was not to be 
trusted. 

The effort of thinking out all this proved too much 
for me, weakened as I was by the poison—whatever 
it was—and, again feeling drowsy, I once more 
closed my eyes, and slept. 

I was conscious of a prick in my arm, and I know 
now that Doctor Denbury gave me an injection. 

Not until noon on the following day was I able to 
get up and dress, and then, accompanied by Feng and 
Thelma, I managed to walk round to the Cross Keys 
which was only a short distance from the hospital. 

The brisk, bald-headed manager invited me into 
his private room and with many inquiries about my 
health and expression of amazement, asked me to 
relate what had actually happened. But what could 
I tell him ? I did not myself know. 

Up till that morning I had—I now discovered— 
been practically under arrest as having attempted 
suicide, but now that it was clear that I had been a 
victim of a plot, the red-faced constable whom I had 
noticed idling about the room, had been withdrawn. 
The papers had got hold of the story, and had made 
a “mystery’’ out of it, to Hensman’s intense disgust. 
On seeing the newspaper reports he had hurried 
from North Wales to see me. 

“You’ve been an infernal fool, Rex!” he said. 
“I’ve telephoned to old Pearson at Duddington. 


212 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


He is quite well. His son never rang you up, and he 
doesn’t want to add a codicil to his will. You’ve 
been had—my dear fellow! You ought to have 
heeded those warnings concerning that little married 
lady!” 

That was all the sympathy I got from him! 

I told the bald-headed hotel-manager of my chat 
with the rugged-faced commercial traveler from 
Bradford, who was a constant guest at the hotel 
and who had worn that curious onyx tie-pin like a 
little human-eye—that pin that I had seen in my 
strange nightmare. 

“Describe him again,” he said looking into my 
face rather puzzled. 

I did so, whereupon he replied:— 

“I recollect seeing him at dinner. He was in 
Number Thirty-Four, the room immediately above 
yours. But he was a complete stranger. I’ve never 
seen him here before. I don’t think he was a com¬ 
mercial. At least he had no samples. The only 
commercial travelers we had were Mr. Sharp from 
London, Mr. Watson from Manchester and Mr. 
Evans from Thomas’s, the flannel manufacturers of 
Welshpool. I had a long chat with Mr. Evans in 
the commercial room before we went to bed. He 
remarked that there were only three travelers that 
night—for it was unusual. We generally have eight 


MORE DISCLOSURES 


213 

or nine here, all of them known to us—except at the 
week-end.” 

“Then the man who told me about old Mr. Brime- 
low was evidently not a commercial!” I remarked. 

“Old Mr. Brimelow. Who is he?” 

“The man from Bradford told me that he was 
once proprietor here a few years ago.” 

“Never,” laughed the manager. “This house has 
belonged to the Yates family for the past seventy 
years. The man evidendy told you some fine fairy 
stories.” 

“Evidently he did,” interposed old Feng. “You 
say that the man had a room over Mr. Yelverton’s. 
That is interesting. May we see it?” 

“Certainly,” was the reply, and all of us ascended 
to a small, stuffy little single room on the second 
floor—the window of which was exactly over that 
of the room I had occupied. 

I told them of that cold thing that I had felt 
pressed to my lips, but I could see that they were 
all incredulous—the hotel-manager most of all. 
Everybody who runs a hotel has a horror of any un¬ 
toward happenings there, for, of course, they are apt 
seriously to prejudice business. In this case I was 
supposed to have attempted suicide, leaving a letter 
of apology to the Coroner. And I felt sure that 
the hotel manager believed that I had attempted 


214 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


my life, even though he seemed to humor me and 
pretend to credit my story. 

We had no police-officer with us. Feng had seen 
to it that we had gone to the hotel unaccompanied. 

The Doctor showed an inquisitive eagerness quite 
unusual with him. He leaned out of the window in 
order to ascertain whether he could see inside the 
room below. Then from his pocket he took a piece 
of string and lowered it to the upper sash of the 
window of my room and made a knot in it. After¬ 
wards be examined the window-sill very minutely. 

“Has this window been cleaned since?” he asked 
the manager. “But there,” he added. “I see it 
hasn’t by its condition. Not for a fortnight—I 
should think—eh?” 

“They were all cleaned about three weeks ago,” 
replied the bald-headed man. 

“Now we will go down to the room in which Mr. 
Yelverton was found,” he said. 

A few moments later we stood in the room 
wherein I had been attacked. The manager pointed 
out the table upon which the letter incriminating me 
had been found, and I gazed wonderingly around. 

“The bottle was found on the floor beside the 
"bed,” he said. “When I first saw you I believed you 
were dead. Your mouth was discolored and your 
face was as white as paper. Ada, the head chamber¬ 
maid, went into hysterics.” 


MORE DISCLOSURES 


215 

“Yes. That’s all very well,” I answered. “But 
what could have really happened? I only remember 
that funny sensation of breathlessness and the cold 
thing pressed to my lips—a bottle I suppose it must 
have been.” 

“Well, to me, it is plain that your entertaining 
friend from Bradford was not exactly what he repre¬ 
sented himself to be,” said Feng, busying himself, 
and examining the room with the closest attention to 
every detail. Suddenly he seemed to bristle with 
excitement, and turning to the manager he asked:— 

“Did the man—what is his name—arrive here be¬ 
fore Mr. Yelverton?” 

“No,” was his reply. “He arrived just after. 
He gave his name as Harwood and particularly 
asked for the room he occupied. He seemed to 
know his way about the hotel quite well. He had no 
luggage, except a small handbag, therefore he paid 
for his room on arrival.” 

“And when did he leave?” 

“I cannot find out. The night-porter says that he 
did not see him. He must have left very early, but 
there is no train leaving here in the morning before 
the 7.49.” 

“So he got away by car, no doubt—a car that was 
waiting for him somewhere,” Feng remarked quickly 
with his gray brows knit. “Is his bag still here?” 

“No. He took it.” 


216 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


“And none of the servants have ever seen him 
before?” 

“No. I asked the three commercial gentlemen 
who were here that night, and they all declared him 
to be a stranger. Commercial travelers always 
know each other on the road.” 

“Well,” I remarked. “It seems to me that my 
entertaining friend must have known which room I 
occupied, got down from his window to mine and 
entered this room while I was asleep.” 

“I think so, Yelverton” said the old Doctor. “It 
seems to me that entering by the window that you 
left open, he first ascertained that the cigarettes he 
gave you—which obviously were drugged—had sent 
you to sleep. Then he pressed the little bottle to 
your lips, forcing you to drink part of its contents— 
you recollect the cold thing you felt upon your lips— 
and then, not knowing how much you had swallowed, 
because in the darkness he could not distinguish, he 
threw down the bottle and leaving everything to 
make it appear that you had committed suicide, he 
clambered back to his own room and afterwards 
escaped.” 

“Do you think so?” asked Thelma. 

“I do,” old Feng replied briskly. “Let us go up¬ 
stairs again and see what we can find.” 

We did so. And on examining the outside wood¬ 
work of the window which the affable man from 


MORE DISCLOSURES 217 

Bradford had occupied, we found a large freshly 
bored hole into which, no doubt, a stout hook had 
been screwed. To this he must have attached a 
rope, which enabled him easily to reach my window¬ 
sill. 

Truly the plot of my enemies had been a well 
thought out and ingenious one. The threat that if 
I continued my search for Stanley Audley I should 
pay for my disobedience with my life, had not been 
made without the full intention to carry it out! 


CHAPTER XVI 


GROWING SUSPICIONS 

I HAD been fortunate enough in my life to escape 
many of the shadows that lie in wait for most men. 
No serious betrayal of friendship had come to make 
me bitter or cynical: I did not—as even my profes¬ 
sion might have taught me to do—look upon men 
with suspicion and distrust. I preferred to give 
them my confidence. 

But in spite of this I found myself growing more 
and more distrustful of old Feng, more suspicious of 
his motives, more convinced that, for some reason I 
could not fathom, he was playing a double game. 

I knew that he was on a footing with Thelma 
quite different from what he allowed me to believe. 
So much their secret interview at Bexhill had shown 
me. And his attitude towards the attempt made 
upon my life went to increase my distrust. 

Had it not been that the handwriting of the note 
left beside my bed differed so completely from my 
own—why no attempt to imitate my hand had been 
made completely puzzled me—I should undoubtedly 
have been charged with attempted suicide. The 
218 


GROWING SUSPICIONS 


219 

local police if not very brilliant, were keen enough 
on the affair. I wanted to give them a detailed ac¬ 
count of everything that had led up to the attack on 
me—to tell them the whole amazing story. To have 
done this would have shown them that there was far 
more behind the affair than they could possibly 
imagine. They, of course, looked upon the matter 
as being within a very narrow circle. I knew, as 
Feng knew, that much more complicated issues were 
involved. 

Feng, however, strenuously opposed my proposal 
to tell the police anything more that the barest facts, 
which, indeed, could not be concealed. I wondered 
why, and asked him. 

‘‘It will serve no good purpose,” he argued. 
“These local policemen have already confessed their 
ignorance of the man from Bradford. He was not 
seen to leave by train, and as, from your description 
of him his appearance was rather striking, I think, 
we may assume he did not go that way. Probably 
he had a car in readiness and escaped unnoticed. If 
you tell the police more than they know already 
you must inevitably drag Mrs. Audley and her hus¬ 
band’s affairs into a very unpleasant publicity. No, 
let us keep our own counsel.” 

I remained in hospital two days longer. Thelma 
and Feng visited me each day and I could not help 
noticing the queer bond of understanding that 


220 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


seemed to have grown up between them. Not a 
word was said by either of them to indicate that 
they were more than mere friends but—perhaps 
my growing suspicions were responsible—I seemed 
to see or to imagine evidence that their association 
implied very much more than I was intended to be¬ 
lieve. Feng had always opposed my association with 
Thelma—had seemed, indeed, decidedly hostile to 
her. His hostility, at least, had apparently evap¬ 
orated. Yet I found he was as strongly as ever 
opposed to the continuance of my intimacy with her. 

Did he fear for me? Did he fear for her? Did 
he fear for both of us? 

I could not tell. But there was no mistaking the 
advice he gave. 

“Look here, Yelverton,” he said to me a few 
hours before I was to leave the hospital, “you have 
had a very narrow escape. You owe your life to 
the merest chance and you may not be so lucky in 
the future.” 

“In the future!” I echoed. “Surely you don’t 
think there will be another attempt to get me out 
of the way?” 

“Indeed, I do,” he replied very gravely. “I don’t 
pretend to understand the reason, but I should think 
it must be perfectly clear that your friendship with 
Mrs. Audley is involving someone in a danger so 
grave that they will not stick at trifles to avert it.” 


GROWING SUSPICIONS 


221 


“But how on earth can my friendship with Thelma 
affect anyone else to such a degree as that?” I de¬ 
manded, with some heat. “Stanley Audley might 
perhaps object, but even he could hardly imagine 
that it was a cause for murder. And even if he did 
the rather elaborate plot evolved by someone would 
hardly have been the line he would have chosen.” 

Feng shook his head. “You can rule Stanley 
Audley, as the husband, out of your reckoning. But 
what about Stanley Audley, the bank-note forger. 
Suppose he and his associates know that your con¬ 
stant efforts to find him might mean bringing the 
whole gang to justice? Desperate men would not 
hesitate at murder when the stakes involved are so 
great. My own belief is they fear that by your 
continued friendship with Mrs. Audley you will pick 
up a hint that will set you—and the police—on the 
right track. Probably they think that is your real 
motive. Take my advice—I mean it very seriously 
—and cut yourself adrift from the whole thing. Go 
back to London, take up your work afresh—and 
forget Thelma ever existed.” 

“I can’t and I won’t,” I declared passionately. 
“I’m going to try to get the man who attacked me, 
and I’m going to try to find Stanley Audley. Thelma 
thinks he is dead. I’m going to leave no stone un¬ 
turned to find out the truth. If he is really alive 
and returns to her—well, I should have to keep 


222 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


away. In the meantime I want to discover the man 
who tried to murder me.” 

“He will be discovered some day, you can be 
quite certain,” was Feng’s reply. 

His tone surprised me completely: there was in 
it a curious ring of certainty entirely unexpected. 
It was as if he knew with certainty and positive 
conviction. 

I glanced at him sharply. “You seem very cer¬ 
tain of it,” I said. 

“Well, I am pretty certain,” was his reply, with 
a curious expression on his usually inscrutable face. 
And once again came to my mind the uncanny con¬ 
viction that the old fellow really knew a great deal 
more than he would tell me. My suspicions of him 
redoubled. 

“Drop it, my boy,” he said kindly enough. “If 
you had taken my advice at first this would never 
have happened.” 

Then for the twentieth time he went over with 
me every detail of the description of the mysterious 
stranger from Bradford. What motive lay behind 
the ceaseless questioning I could not imagine. Feng 
was not a policeman, he strongly opposed telling the 
police any more than we could help, yet he discussed 
the man from Bradford as though he expected to 
meet him in the street next day and arrest him on 
the instant. 


GROWING SUSPICIONS 


223 

But for what I had seen myself, but for the un¬ 
mistakable “human eye” scarf-pin that I had un¬ 
mistakably seen when in the throes of what was so 
nearly my death agony, I should have hesitated to 
believe that the mysterious man from Bradford 
could have been concerned in the attack on me. Any¬ 
one less like a criminal it would be difficult to con¬ 
ceive. His keen, cheery countenance, indelibly 
stamped on my recollection; his frank, engaging 
manner; his open, goodfellowship and gay-hearted 
discussion of any and every subject of interest that 
cropped up, all tended to give the lie to the sugges¬ 
tion that he would be a murderer in intent if not 
in fact. But that scarf-pin! It could not be mis¬ 
taken. There could not by any stretch of coinci¬ 
dence be two such pins in that Stamford hotel on 
the same night. And upon that pin I had undoubt¬ 
edly looked during that awful night when I so nearly 
lost my life. 

Another thought had flashed upon my mind. 
Young Mr. Pearson had driven from Duddington 
to see me. I had never spoken to him before and 
instantly I knew that his was not the voice I had 
heard upon the telephone. Then I knew whose voice 
had come to me over the wire. It was that of the 
man from Bradford. I wondered I had not thought 
of it before. But I was sure my recollection was 
right. 


224 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


On that last afternoon, when the hospital doctor 
pronounced me fit to travel back to London, I took 
a walk with Thelma through the town, and out along 
the pretty road which leads to Great Casterton. We 
soon left the road by a footpath which took us up 
the hillside and into some delightful woods, part 
of the ancient far-reaching Rockingham Forest. 
There we rested together on the trunk of a big fallen 
elm. 

Around us the sun’s rays slanting through the 
foliage, fell upon the gray lichen of the huge forest 
trees and the light green of the bracken, while the 
damp sweet smell of the woods greeted our nostrils 
—that delightful perfume which seems peculiar to 
rural England in summer. 

“Mr. Yelverton,” exclaimed my pretty com¬ 
panion, gazing suddenly into my eyes. “I—I want 
to ask you to forgive me. This wretched affair has 
happened all through me. I alone am to blame 
for it.” 

“Blame!” I echoed, as I took her hand—“what 
do you mean? You are certainly not to blame. It 
seems I have a secret enemy who tried to kill me— 
I don’t know why; I have done no one any harm 
that I know of. But to say you are to blame is 
absurd.” 

“Doctor Feng says you should have taken heed 
of the warning that was sent you concerning my- 


GROWING SUSPICIONS 


225 

self,” she replied. “He thinks, too, that another 
attempt will probably be made upon you—so do 
be careful.” 

“But why? Tell me why,” I demanded. 

She spread out her hands in a little gesture of 
helplessness and drew her cream-colored sports coat 
more closely around her. She looked very sweet and 
dainty in a close fitting little pull-on hat of cherry 
color in fine pliable straw, a summer frock of pale 
gray silk striped with cherry to match her hat, and 
gray suede shoes and stockings. 

It never struck me at the time that if she really 
believed Stanley to be dead she would have worn 
mourning. 

“Doctor Feng is very concerned about you,” she 
declared. “Has he told you anything?” 

“No,” was my reply. 

“Well, he seems very upset about something. I 
can’t make it out.” 

“Neither can I!” I replied. “The whole affair 
of Stanley’s flight and the subsequent happenings 
are beyond my comprehension, Thelma.” 

“His flight!” she exclaimed in a startled voice. 
“You surely don’t think that he has left me inten¬ 
tionally?” 

“Then why doesn’t he write to you or return?” 
I asked pointedly. 

“Perhaps,” she suggested gently, “there are cir- 


226 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


cumstances that prevent him doing either.” I had 
thought she would have been offended. 

“No,” I said, “he is your husband. His duty is 
clearly to tell you where he is and why he has not 
returned. I am sure he would if he really loved 
you,” I added recklessly. 

She was plainly startled now. Whatever she 
knew—and I was sure she knew more than she 
would tell me—the idea that her husband did not 
really care for her was clearly new and overwhelm¬ 
ing. She gazed at me white-faced and wide eyed. 

“If he really cares for me!” she whispered, her 
eyes filling with tears. 

I could not bear this. “Of course he cares for 
you,” I said with a laugh meant to reassure her, 
“but he ought to write to you anyhow. Perhaps he 
has done so.” 

I gazed at her as she sat at my side on that glori¬ 
ous afternoon. Above us a pair of wood doves were 
softly cooing, while a thrush annoyed at our pres¬ 
ence, uttered his clattering alarm-note to his mate. 
Village chimes sounded somewhere across the Wel¬ 
land valley, together with the shrill whistle of a 
railway engine. 

“Thelma,” I whispered at last. “Do tell me the 
real and actual truth.” I looked into her grey eyes. 
They were as unclouded, her cheeks as cool, her 
candor and serenity as undisturbed as when, on that 


GROWING SUSPICIONS 


227 

winter’s day amid the high-up snows she had shyly 
thanked me for offering to look after her during 
her husband’s absence. I, on the other hand felt 
like a fool. My heart, though I had done my best 
to steel it to endurance, was torn by a thousand 
conflicting feelings. Wild ideas rushed through my 
brain. Was it possible that in her secret heart she 
was not altogether sorry to be rid of Stanley 
Audley? Had she married him hastily in an out¬ 
burst of girlish passion, only to find out her mistake 
when desertion and solitude brought her opportunity 
for reflection? Was this the real explanation of her 
mysterious declaration that her husband would never 
return to her? And if so was there still a chance 
for me? 

“Thelma,” I said softly, taking her hand in mine. 
“I want to speak to you, but—but I hardly know 
how to say it. Since you left Miirren you have 
never been frank with me—never confided in me— 
never told me the truth.” Then, after a pause I 
went on. “Remember I took upon myself a sacred 
trust, to see after you. I have carried out my prom¬ 
ise to Stanley as any honest man should carry it out, 
but it seems that by doing so, I have brought a 
deadly hatred upon myself. Why? I ask you, 
Thelma—why ?” 

She drew a long breath, her hand trembled in mine 
and her eyes grew troubled. 


228 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


“Mr. Yelverton,” she said at last in a trembling 
voice. “The question you ask me is very, very diffi¬ 
cult for me to answer. There are, I confess to you 
at once, some things which I am bound for my hus¬ 
band’s sake to conceal, and therefore I know you 
will not ask me to divulge them. I can’t tell you 
more. You nearly lost your life because of me. I 
was to blame and I am very sorry.” 

“But why?” I demanded. “Why ‘because of 
you?’ How do you come into it? Neither of us 
has done any harm.” 

“I—I don’t know. Dr. Feng says you have 
secret enemies and that it is because of me. That 
is all I know.” 

“But where is Stanley?” 

“I don’t know; if I did he would be here. But 
I believe he is dead.” 

“But have you any fresh evidence?” I asked, 
eagerly. “You know the man who was killed in 
France was not Stanley.” 

“I know only what I have been told.” 

“But who told you?” I persisted. 

“A friend. For certain reasons the strictest 
secrecy has been imposed upon me. Please do not 
question me further. You have been my dearest 
and kindest friend and it is very hard to have to 
prevaricate with you.” 

“Thelma,” I said. “I have all along striven to 


GROWING SUSPICIONS 


229 

be your friend, though circumstances have been 
so much against me. I made a promise to Stanley, 
and I have endeavored to keep it.” 

“And at what a cost!” she exclaimed. “Yes! I 
thank you awfully, for you have been the best and 
dearest friend any girl has ever possessed. Yet you 
have narrowly escaped losing your own life because 
of your chivalry!” and her face flushed slightly. 

For the second time my discretion went to the 
winds. 

“Thelma!” I cried, “don’t talk of chivalry. Can’t 
you see the real reason? Can’t you realize that I 
love you? Can’t you love me a little in return.” 

Her cheeks grew hot. “I—I don’t know,” she 
stammered. “It wouldn’t be right. I am married 
already.” 

The girl’s transparent innocence was amazing. 
Not a shadow of a thought of wrong crossed her 
mind. She gazed at me as candidly and sweetly as 
if she had been my sister. 

“But Thelma,” I pleaded, “suppose Stanley is 
really dead; could you care for me a little?” 

For a few seconds she sat silent, then she an¬ 
swered in a low voice broken by emotion. “Before 
I can answer that we must learn the truth.” 

My heart gave a great leap. There was hope 
for me. 

“I will find out,” I declared, “whatever the cost.” 


230 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


“But, Mr. Yelverton, please be careful,” she said. 
“Dr. Feng is terribly apprehensive. He evidently 
thinks you are in great danger and doesn’t want 
me to see you.” 

“But why should he be?” I asked. 

“I don’t know. I cannot make him out at all. 
Sometimes I think he knows more than he will ever 
admit about Stanley.” 

But I cared nothing for Feng. My heart was 
singing. Thelma’s words acted as a spur to my 
decision to continue my investigations. I determined 
once more and for all to play for the biggest stake. 
If I lost I must accept my fate philosophically. If 
I won—! 


CHAPTER XVII 


PLOT AND COUNTER-PLOT 

Next day, Feng having left for Edinburgh to 
visit some friends, Thelma and I traveled to Lon¬ 
don together. At King’s Cross I saw her into a 
taxi, for she was going to Highgate to spend a few 
days with a girl cousin, and myself went across to 
Russell Square. 

Mrs. Chapman was greatly excited at my return, 
and was eager to know exactly what had happened, 
for already Hensman had been round and told her 
of my accident. 

“Yesterday, about four o’clock, a gentleman 
called, sir,” my old servant went on. “He was 
very anxious to see you, and seemed worried that 
you were away. I told him I expected you back 
today. Then, after hesitating a little, he asked 
leave to come in and write a note for you. He’s left 
it on your table, sir.” 

“Who was he?” 

“I’ve never seen him before, sir. He was a tall 
man with a long hooked nose, and a thin face deeply 
lined.” 


231 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


232 

It sounded very like a description of my affable 
friend from Bradford! 

“Did you notice his tie-pin?” I asked. 

“Yes, sir. It was a funny one—like a little eye.” 

I dashed into my room where upon my blotting- 
pad lay a letter. This I tore open and read. It 
was written in the same handwriting as that mysteri¬ 
ous letter to the Coroner, and upon a sheet of my 
own note-paper. 

"Do you refuse to be warnedT’ it read. "Drop your 
search for Stanley Audley, or next time steps will be taken 
to prevent you from escaping. It is known that you love 
Thelma, and that is forbidden, for Stanley Audley still lives, 
and is watching you!" 

There was no signature. I took from my pocket 
the strange letter left in my bedroom and compared 
them. The writing was exactly similar. 

“How long was the man here?” I asked of Mrs. 
Chapman, on entering the little kitchen of the flat. 

“Oh! about ten minutes, sir. He seemed very 
busy writing, so I left him.” 

“Ten minutes!” I echoed. “Six lines of writing 
could not take that time!” 

Clearly there must be another reason why my 
home should have been so boldly entered, so I 
dashed back to my room and on opening the drawers 
of my roll-top desk I found three of them in dis¬ 
order, as though they had been hurriedly searched. 


PLOT AND COUNTER-PLOT 233 

At once I realized what had gone. All the letters 
I had received from Thelma I had kept tied up with 
pink tape because of my legal training, I suppose. 
They had been lying in the bottom drawer on the 
right hand side. It was not my habit to lock up 
anything from my old and trusted servant, hence 
the desk had not been closed down. Had it been, 
the drawers would have locked themselves auto¬ 
matically. 

The letters were no longer there! The mysteri¬ 
ous visitor had evidently sought for and found them. 
Was the intention to place them in the hands of the 
missing man? Or was it blackmail? 

Every incident in the queer tangle of events 
seemed to add a further puzzle to the mystery of 
Stanley Audley and his associates. An intention to 
levy blackmail might explain the theft of the letter, 
though they were innocent enough. But they did 
not explain the attack on myself and the constant 
espionage to which I was subjected. Why should I 
be marked down for assassination? That I had 
made a foolishly romantic promise to act as guardian 
and protector of a pretty bride, was not enough to 
answer that question. 

Each day that passed since that fateful afternoon 
amid the silent Alpine snows had increased the mys¬ 
tery which surrounded Stanley Audley. Was he a 
crook, an associate of an unscrupulous international 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


234 

gang of forgers—or was he after all, an honest 
man? If only Thelma would speak! But it was 
obvious her lips were sealed, and I felt convinced 
they were sealed by fear. Someone, it was obvious, 
had some hold over her which enabled him to com¬ 
mand her silence. It was her duty as a wife, she 
claimed, to preserve her husband’s secrets inviolable. 
But what was the secret? 

I returned to the office next day depressed and 
puzzled to the last degree. I was hardly conscious 
of what I was doing. As\in a waking dream I lived 
through the agony I had gone through at Stamford. 
Time and again I seemed to feel that cold thing on 
my lips; the small, evil-looking eye I had seen in my 
half-consciousness seemed to glare balefully at me 
even in the broad daylight. And time after time, 
as I sat in my office striving wearily to read letters 
and dictate coherent replies, Thelma’s exquisite face* 
appeared to float in the air before me. Distraught 
and over-wrought I realized at last that work was 
hopeless and hurriedly left the office. 

For hours I tramped the London pavements, tor¬ 
mented by thoughts of Thelma, racking my brain 
for some possible way out of the horrible position in 
which I found myself. It must have been far into 
the morning before—quite automatically—I stag¬ 
gered homeward and flinging myself, dressed as I 


PLOT AND COUNTER-PLOT 235 

was, upon my bed, fell into the deep stupor of utter 
exhaustion. 

Four days after my return to London I happened 
to be passing along Pall Mall, when a sudden fancy 
took me to call upon old Humphreys. There an¬ 
other surprise awaited me. 

“Mr. Humphreys is away, sir—in Edinburgh,” 
the fair-haired clerk at the key-office informed me. 

Edinburgh! Old Feng had left me suddenly to 
go there! Was it a coincidence, or were they meet¬ 
ing in Scotland for some purpose? 

“We expect him back tomorrow night,” the young 
man added. 

So I turned away. 

Next day, knowing that Thelma was going shop¬ 
ping with her cousin in the West End, I spent the 
afternoon wandering in Regent Street in the hope 
of meeting them. I had telephoned to Highgate 
with the intention of making an appointment and 
taking them to tea, but they had already left. Thel¬ 
ma’s aunt, who spoke to me, had mentioned several 
shops they intended visiting, and I had spent nearly 
an hour and a half in search of them, when suddenly 
near the Oxford Circus end of Regent Street, I 
noticed a rather shabbily dressed old man standing 
at a window, examining the jewelry displayed. 

Next second my heart gave a bound. It was 
Doctor Feng, but so well disguised was he that I 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


236 

was compelled to look twice in order to reassure 
myself that I was not mistaken. Gone was the erect 
alert figure I knew so well. The man before me 
stooped heavily, with his chin kept well down; Doc¬ 
tor Feng’s usually well cut and w T ell tended clothing 
had given place to garments utterly frayed and 
shabby, while the old felt hat on his head was badly 
stained and worn. 

Instantly I drew back in astonishment, not wish¬ 
ing to reveal myself. For what reason was he 
idling there in that garb? He presented a broken- 
down appearance, as if he were a professional man 
who had fallen on evil times. 

It was clear that his interest in the jewelry was 
only feigned, and before long I saw he was keenly 
watching the entrance to a well-known milliner’s, 
though from such a position he was not likely to 
attract the notice of anyone emerging. 

I stood there watching the watcher, for perhaps 
ten minutes. Then Thelma and her cousin came out 
and turned towards Piccadilly Circus. Feng at once 
moved slowly on, following their movements. I 
was within a few yards of him, but so intent was 
his watch upon the two girls that he never once 
turned round. Otherwise he would almost certainly 
have seen me, for I knew his eyesight was remark¬ 
ably good. 

He watched them enter two shops, keeping him- 


PLOT AND COUNTER-PLOT 237 

self well away from observation. At last they en¬ 
tered a tea-shop. Then having apparently satisfied 
himself that they had seated themselves, he strolled 
away. 

In about a quarter of an hour he returned, and 
so suddenly did he re-appear that I was half afraid 
that he must have seen and recognized me. A few 
minutes later, however, it became clear that he had 
not, for again he stood idly looking into a neigh¬ 
boring shop window. 

When Thelma and her cousin came out they 
crossed the road, and walked to Piccadilly Circus, 
where they entered a well-known draper’s. It was 
then after five o’clock. 

Again old Feng lounged outside while I, fearing 
recognition, remained on the opposite side of the 
road near the entrance to the Cafe Monico. 

The time passed slowly. The hurrying home¬ 
going crowds focussed upon the Tube station where 
all had become bustle, and already half-an-hour had 
passed. I watched the old man peer into the big 
shop every now and then curiously impatient and 
anxious. It was plain that he could not see the 
pair. He must have thought they were making ex¬ 
tensive purchases, for nearly three quarters of an 
hour elapsed ere it seemed to dawn upon him that 
there were two exits from the shop into Piccadilly! 

His chagrin could be plainly seen. Ignorant, of 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


238 

course, that they were being watched, the two girls 
had unwittingly eluded his vigilance and calmly left 
by the other entrance. 

He hurried round the corner amid the crowd 
awaiting the motor buses, and then sped back 
again. It was plain that he was annoyed, and I 
thought very considerably perturbed. 

Realizing at last that they had eluded him he 
crossed the Circus and entered a motor bus which 
would take him home to Barnes. Then, having 
watched his departure, I turned away and walked 
thoughtfully back to Russell Square. 

On leaving the office early next afternoon, I called 
upon Hartley Humphreys, at the Carlton. A page 
took me up in the lift and knocked at the door. But 
before he did so I distinctly heard voices within and 
recognized them as those of Humphreys and Feng. 
They were laughing loudly together. When they 
heard the page knock, they instantly ceased talking. 
I heard a door communicating with the adjoining 
room close, and then Humphreys gave permission 
to enter. 

The old financier sat alone and was most effusive 
in his welcome. 

“So glad to see you, Yelverton!” he cried, grasp¬ 
ing my hand. “Sit down,” and he touched the bell 
for the waiter. “I’ve been north and only got back 
last night. Next week I hope to move into that 


PLOT AND COUNTER-PLOT 239 

\ 

house at Hampstead that I’ve bought. I’m sick to 
death of hotels. You must come and see me there; 
come and dine one night.” 

I thanked him and expressed great pleasure at his 
invitation. 

Why, I wondered, had Feng hurriedly disap¬ 
peared? He had passed into that adjoining room 
which was a bedroom, and thence, I supposed, out 
into the corridor. Or perhaps he was in the next 
apartment listening to our conversation. 

Over a whiskey and soda I told Humphreys of 
the desperate attempt that had been made upon my 
life, and described all the circumstances. Somehow 
I felt confidence in him, even though he had Harold 
Ruthen in his employ. I suspected Feng the more 
because of the manner in which he had kept secret 
watch upon Thelma. 

“By jove I” said Humphreys, when I had finished. 
“You certainly had a very narrow escape.” 

“Yes. But fortunately the dose given was not 
fatal, though the doctor has told me that had I 
swallowed a few more drops I should certainly have 
died.” 

“But the letter to the Coroner!” remarked the 
old man. “Your enemy took care to complete the 
picture of suicide, didn’t he?” 

“I should have had some difficulty in disproving 
the charge of attempted suicide if it were not for the 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


240 

handwriting,” I said. “The assassin did not reckon 
on the chance that I should escape and prove the 
letter to be a forgery!” 

Then I told him of the visit paid to my rooms 
and the theft of Thelma’s letters. 

“Ah!” he said. “It is your association with that 
little lady which has brought you into danger. De¬ 
pend upon it there is some secret connected with 
Audley that, at all hazards, has to be kept—even 
if it involves plotting your death. You have had a 
pretty severe warning and if I were you I should 
certainly heed it. Whatever the secret may be— 
and it clearly must be something very serious—it 
evidently does not concern you personally and if 
you drop the whole affair you will be safe enough. 
Surely there is no reason why you should run any 
further risk?” 

“It concerns Thelma,” I said doggedly, “and for 
her sake I have determined, no matter at what risk 
to myself, and no matter who threatens me, to eluci¬ 
date the mystery of Audley’s dual role, and his 
curious disappearance. For the future at least I 
shall be forearmed.” 

The old man, with knit brows, shrugged his 
shoulders dubiously. 

“Of course I can quite understand, Yelverton,” 
he said at last with a smile. “You have fallen in 
love with her. Oh! it is all very foolish—very fool- 


PLOT AND COUNTER-PLOT 241 

ish, indeed. I suppose you have discovered a good 
many things concerning Stanley Audley?” 

“Yes, many curious facts which require explana¬ 
tion,” I said. 

“Really?” he asked, interested. “What are 
they?” 

In response, I told him one of two strange things 
I had discovered concerning the missing man, at 
which he expressed himself utterly astounded. 

“I really don’t wonder that the remarkable affair 
has bewildered you,” he said at last. “I had no idea 
that Audley was such a man of mystery. I thought 
he had merely left his bride and hidden himself be¬ 
cause he grew tired of her.” 

“No. He is hiding because of his fear of some¬ 
body—that is my opinion.” 

“Have you any idea where he is?” 

“Not in the least,” I replied frankly, at the same 
time recollecting that his friend, Ruthen, whom I 
so disliked, was also in search’ of Thelma’s husband. 

“But don’t you think that his wife knows his 
whereabouts?” he asked. 

“I cannot form a decided opinion,” was my reply. 
“Sometimes I think she does; then at others I feel 
sure that she firmly believes that he is dead.” 

“You do not believe they hold communication in 
secret ?” 

“I think not.” 


242 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


“What causes her to believe that he is dead, I 
wonder ?” 

“Because she obtains no news from him and some¬ 
body has told her so,” was my reply, reflecting that 
Feng might be listening to our conversation. 

Slowly he placed his cigarette-end in the ash tray 
at his elbow and drained his glass. 

“Well, Yelverton,” said the calm old cosmopoli¬ 
tan who was once such a confirmed invalid and whose 
lameness had happily been restored, “after all, I 
don’t see how Aifdley’s movements concern you— 
except for one thing—your indiscreet affection for 
his wife. Of course the position does not please 
you—it is natural that it should not please you— 
but if I were you I would drop it all. I agree with 
Feng that for you to continue can only lead to un¬ 
happiness. More than that you run a great risk 
at the hands of some unknown persons whose des¬ 
peration is already proved by what happened at 
Stamford. Something more serious may yet happen. 
Therefore,” he added, regarding me very seriously, 
“were I in your place I would run no further risk.” 

“I know your advice is well meant, Mr. Humph¬ 
reys,” I declared. “But I have made up my mind 
to solve this mystery, and I will never rest until 
I have done so.” 

“For Thelma’s sake—eh?” he asked, or rather 
snapped impatiently. 


PLOT AND COUNTER-PLOT 243 

“Perhaps.” 

“Then, of course, you must make up your mind 
to take the consequences. You have asked my 
advice, and I have given it. But if you pursue an 
obstinate course,” he said, stroking his thin gray 
beard as though in thought, “if you are so foolishly 
obstinate you will have yourself alone to blame 
should disaster fall upon you. I honestly believe 
that if you continue, you are a doomed man!” 

His tone of voice struck me as highly peculiar: 
he might almost have been passing sentence of death 
upon me! 

I had no reason to doubt his friendliness, yet his 
intimate acquaintance with Feng, whom I distrusted, 
puzzled me more than ever. 

“What causes you to think that another attempt 
may be made upon me,” I asked again, looking very 
straight at my companion. 

“Has not the past proved the existence of some 
mysterious plot against you—that some person or 
persons are determined that you shall never learn 
their secret?” he asked again very seriously. “Com¬ 
plaisance is always the best policy before anything 
we cannot alter.” 

I saw the force of his argument, of course, but 
with firmness replied— 

“Nothing shall deter me from solving this mys¬ 
tery, Mr. Humphreys. Nothing.” 


CHAPTER XVIII 

MISSING! 

A week later I was engaged one morning dic¬ 
tating letters to my typist when Hensman rushed 
into my room, evidently in a state of great agitation. 

“Can I speak to you for a moment?” he asked. 
He was pale and agitated. 

At a sign from me the girl left the room. “What’s 
wrong, old man?” I said. 

“Have you seen the paper this morning?” he 
asked. 

“No, not yet. Why?” 

“Then you haven’t seen this,” he said, handing 
me his copy of the Times which, as most solicitors 
do, he was in the habit of scanning before he began 
his day’s work. 

What I read staggered me. It was as follows: 

Missing Lady 

“The police are actively in search of Mrs. Thelma 
Audley, aged 20, daughter of Mrs. Shaylor, widow of 
Lieutenant-Commander Cyril Shaylor, R.N., who left her 
home at Bexhill-on-Sea on the morning of the 18th inst. 
after the receipt of an urgent telegram calling her to 
London. 


244 


MISSING! 


245 

“She did not show the message to anyone, but its receipt 
apparently caused her great excitement, for she hurriedly 
packed a bag, telling her mother that she would be stay¬ 
ing at the Grosvenor Hotel at Victoria and would return 
next day. 

“Nothing has since been seen or heard of her. She did 
not arrive at the hotel, and it is an open question whether 
she actually ever went to London. 

“Inquiries show that she did not travel by the train she 
intended. But as there are two lines of railway from Bexhill 
to London the lady may have taken the second route, by a 
train leaving half-an-hour later, which brought a good many 
returning excursionists to London, so that she may easily 
have passed unnoticed. 

“One curious feature of the case is that Mrs. Audley, on 
receipt of the telegram, apparently burned it by applying a 
match, as the tinder was found in the fireplace of her bed¬ 
room. Another most curious feature is that her mother 
Mrs. Saylor received on the following day a telegram handed 
in at Waterloo Station, with the words, 'Am all right, do 
not worry. Back soon — Thelma / 

“Mrs. Audley and her mother are well-known in Bexhill, 
where they have lived for two years. The young lady 
married early in the New Year, but her husband being called 
abroad, she has remained at home during the summer. Any 
information concerning the missing lady will be gladly 
received by her mother, and can be given to any police 
station. Her description which was circulated yesterday is 
as follows:—” 

Then followed a very minute description of 
Thelma, and of the clothes she wore when she left 
Bexhill. 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


246 

Thelma had disappeared! Did that mysterious 
message emanate from her husband? Had she gone 
to join him in hiding? 

Why had she been so careful to destroy that mes¬ 
sage which called her to London? If it were from 
Stanley, as I felt certain it was, then what more 
natural than that she would have told her mother 
and explained that she was rejoining him? 

She was elated at receipt of the message! Why? 

“This is even more amazing than the past events,” 
I declared to Hensman when, at last I found my 
tongue. “What do you think of it?” 

“I don’t know what to think of it, old chap,” was 
my partner’s reply, “except that it makes the whole 
affair more mysterious than ever. It is quite clear 
she has disappeared of her own free will. Possibly 
she has some motive, as her husband undoubtedly 
had, for effacing himself, and I should think it quite 
possible she has gone to join him, wherever he is.” 

I put in a telephone call to Mrs. Shaylor at once. 
Her strained voice clearly betrayed acute distress 
and anxiety. When I told her I had read the ac¬ 
count of Thelma’s disappearance, she said: 

“Oh! Mr. Yelverton, I am so terribly distressed. 
What do you think of it all? I suppose you know 
nothing of my girl’s whereabouts.” 

“Absolutely nothing,” I said despairingly. “I 
wrote to her some days ago, but had no reply.” 


MISSING! 


247 

“Your letter is here. It came on the night she 
left. I recognized your handwriting. I believe 
she is in London, and that she sent me that reassur¬ 
ing telegram from Waterloo, but the police do not 
believe it. They doubt that she ever went to 
London.” 

“Who says so? The local police?” 

“One of the two detectives who came down from 
London yesterday to see me.” 

“But that telegram which she burned,” I asked. 
“Who was the sender. Have you any suspicion?” 

“I feel quite certain that it was from Stanley.” 

“Then if she is with her husband, why should we 
worry?” I asked. 

“Because—well, because I have a strange intuition 
that there is something seriously wrong. Why, I 
can’t tell—a mother’s intuition is usually right, Mr. 
Yelverton.” 

“Is that really all you know?” I asked eagerly. 
“Cannot I be of any service in assisting to trace 
her?” 

“Well, the police are evidently doing.their best,” 
was her reply. “There is one queer circumstance 
about the affair, namely that on the day before she 
received the telegram, a stranger called to see her. 
We had just had dinner when he was announced. 
He was a tall, thin, fair-haired young man, and he 
asked to see Thelma. She saw him in the morning- 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


248 

room, and she was alone with him for about ten 
minutes or so. After he left she seemed to be won¬ 
derfully elated. She would tell me nothing, only 
that some good news had been imparted to her by 
the stranger. I asked her why she did not confide 
in me, but she replied that it was her own affair, 
and that at the moment she was not allowed to 
divulge it. Later on she would tell me all. Then 
next day she received the telegram which she had 
apparently been expecting, and left. 

“Oh! Mr. Yelverton! The mystery of it all is 
driving me to distraction,” the poor lady went on. 
“If you can do anything to help me I shall thank 
you forever.” 

“Listen, Mrs. Shaylor,” I said over the wire. 
“Will you kindly repeat the description of that 
stranger who called to see Thelma on the day pre¬ 
vious. It is important—very important!” 

She gave a detailed description of the fair-haired 
young man and the clothes he wore. 

“Did she appear to know him?” 

“Oh, yes! It was evident that they had met be¬ 
fore,” came the voice over the telephone. “He 
greeted her merrily, and asked to be allowed to 
speak with her in private. Later, I heard Thelma’s 
voice raised in exultant laughter.” 

“Have you never seen the young man before?” I 
asked. 


MISSING! 


249 

“Never. He was a total stranger to me. But 
Thelma knew him without a doubt. If you can 
help me to re-discover her it is all I can ask of you, 
Mr. Yelverton. You can imagine my distress. Why 
she does not let me hear from her I cannot think.’* 

“Perhaps Stanley—who is evidently in hiding, 
forbids it,” I said in an effort to relieve her anxiety, 
though the fact of her disappearance in itself showed 
some sinister influence at work. 

“Perhaps so, Mr. Yelverton. Yet if that is the 
case it is surely very unfair to me!” 

“Time’s up,” chipped in the voice of the operator 
at the exchange. “Sorry! Time’s up!” 

And the next instant we were cut off. 

Hensman had been standing beside me as I had 
been speaking. 

“Well, what shall you do now?” he asked. 
“You’ve apparently placed yourself in a fine fix, 
Rex. First you narrowly lose your life, and now 
the lady is missing. Is it yet another plot?” 

“Undoubtedly,” I replied, reflectively. “I must 
have time to consider what steps to take.” 

“If I were you I wouldn’t mix myself up in the 
affair any further. Take my advice, old man. You 
haven’t been the same for months. It has got on 
your nerves,” he declared, as he filled his pipe. 

“I know it has, my dear fellow, but when I decide 
to do a thing, I do it. I mean to solve this enigma.” 


2 50 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


“Well, you haven’t been very successful up to th£ 
present, have you?” he remarked, a trifle sarcas¬ 
tically, I thought. 

“No. But I will not give up,” I said firmly. “This 
second mystery of Thelma’s disappearance makes 
me more than ever determined to continue my 
search.” 

“Then forgive me for saying so, Rex—it is per¬ 
haps unpardonable of me to intrude in your private 
affairs—but I think you are acting very foolishly. 
If the young lady has disappeared, then, no doubt, 
she has done so with some distinct motive.” 

“In that case she would have confided in her 
mother,” I argued. 

“Over the telephone you spoke of some stranger 
who had visited her.” 

“Yes. It is that fact which urges me on to prose¬ 
cute my inquiries,” I replied. “The young man 
evidently bore some message, but from whom?” 

Hensman’s advice was, of course, sound enough, 
but he was not in love as I was. He saw things 
through quite a different pair of spectacles. 

An hour later I took a taxi to Castlenau to seek 
old Doctor Feng, my object being to ascertain 
whether he had any knowledge of what had 
occurred. 

In answer to my ring the doctor’s housekeeper 


MISSING! 


251 

appeared. She was a sour-faced old woman in a 
rather soiled apron, whom I had seen before. 

“The doctor ’aint in, sir,” she replied, in true 
Cockney intonation. “I don’t know where ’e is.” 

“What time did he go out?” I asked. 

“Oh! ’e went out on Tuesday morning, and ’e 
’aint been back since. But ’e often goes away sudden 
like.” 

“Does he?” I asked. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Ah!” I laughed. “I see you don’t like him.” I 
hoped to get more out of her. 

“I do. The doctor’s real good sort, sir. ’E’s 
been awfully good to me and my girl, Emily. I 
don’t know what we should ’ave done this winter 
if we ’adn’t ’ad this place. ’E’s a bit lonely, is the 
doctor. But ’e’s been a real good gentleman to me.” 

“Do you happen to know a friend of his, a Mr. 
Harold Ruthen,” I asked suddenly. 

“Of course I know ’im, sir. ’E’s often ’ere. ’E’s 
brought a lady once or twice—a pretty young mar¬ 
ried lady. I don’t know ’er surname, but the doctor 
calls ’er Thelma.” 

Thelma! I held my breath. In face of what I 
had learned this was staggering. 

“I know the lady,” I said, with an inward struggle 
to remain unexcited. And I went on to describe 
her and her dress. 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


252 

“That’s the lady, sir.” 

“When was she last here ?” 

“Oh! Well, it was about three days ago, sir. 
She came with another young gentleman whom 
I’d never seen before—she called ’im Stanley.” 

Stanley! Could Stanley Audley have been there? 

“Yes,” I said excitedly as I stood within the hall, 
“and what else? I have reason in asking this. A 
great deal depends upon what you can tell me.” 

“I ’ope I’m not telling anything wrong, sir,” re¬ 
plied the woman. “Only you’ve asked me, and I’ve 
told you the truth.” 

“Thanks very much,” I replied. “This is all most 
interesting. Describe what this friend of the young 
lady’s was like.” 

She reflected a moment, and then, telling me that 
he wore a dark blue suit and was a “thorough gen¬ 
tleman”—presumably because he had given her a 
tip before his departure—she described a young man 
which was most certainly the missing man, Stanley 
Audley. 

I questioned her, and she became quite frank— 
after I had placed a couple of half-crowns into her 
hand—concerning the visit of Thelma and Stanley. 

“They came ’ere early in the afternoon,” she said. 
They’d a long talk with the doctor—a very serious 
talk, for when I passed the door they were only a 
talkin’ in whispers. I don’t like people what whis- 


MISSING! 


253 

per, sir. If they can’t talk out loud there is some¬ 
thin’ wrong—that’s what I always says.” 

I agreed. Further, I gathered from her that the 
conference between Thelma, Stanley and old Feng 
had been most confidential. 

“The young man left ’arf an ’our before the 
young lady,” she told me. “ ’E seemed very 
nervous, I thought. It was dark when ’e went, and 
as he said good-bye to the doctor, I ’eard ’im say, 
‘Remember, I’m dead—as before!’ I wonder what 
’e meant? I’ve been thinking over it lots of times. 
But, of course, sir, wot I’ve told you is all secret. 
I ought not to ’ave told you anything. I’ve got a 
good job, and I don’t want to lose it, as things are 
’ard in these days, I tell you straight. So you won’t 
repeat to the doctor what we’ve been talkin’ about, 
will yer?” 

“No!” I said. “Certainly not.” 


CHAPTER XIX 


AT HEATHERMOOR GARDENS 

That night the newspapers contained a para¬ 
graph repeating what had appeared in the morning 
concerning Mrs. Audley’s disappearance, and stating 
that no trace of her had been discovered after she 
had left Bexhill. 

Her secret visit to old Feng, accompanied by 
Stanley, three days before, added to the mystery. 
Feng knew of my search for Audley. Then, why 
had he not told me the truth? With what motive 
was I being misled and befooled by a conspiracy of 
silence? 

I began to realize that that motive, whatever it 
was, must be far stronger than I had previously sus¬ 
pected. And in my heart, I confess, I was dismayed 
by the knowledge that Stanley Audley was still alive: 
it showed that the goal upon which I had set my 
heart would never be reached. My distress and 
dismay as I sat late into the night in my silent bach¬ 
elor room, may well be imagined. 

Had Thelma purposely gone into hiding with 
her husband, and with the connivance of Feng—or 
254 


AT HEATHERMOOR GARDENS 255 

had she since met with foul play? Her failure to 
take her mother into her confidence seemed to me 
to suggest the latter. 

I was strongly tempted to go to Scotland Yard 
and tell the police all I knew about the missing girl. 
But after long consideration I decided that I could 
do little, if any, good. The police were pursuing 
their own methods and what I could tell them would 
not help matters much. In addition I am afraid 
I did not want the police to get hold of Stanley 
Audley. If, as I strongly suspected, he was engaged 
in the nefarious trafficking in forged bank-notes, any¬ 
thing I did could only bring fresh distress upon 
Thelma. And I could not force myself to believe 
that her husband would be sufficiently callous and 
cold-blooded to allow any serious harm to befall 
her. In the long run it proved I was right. The 
issue was in other hands than those of Scotland Yard. 

I was trying to fix my mind upon my work at the 
office next day, when my telephone rang and I heard 
the cheery voice of old Mr. Humphreys. 

“Look here, Yelverton, I’ve been meaning to ring 
you up for some days past. Can you come and dine 
with me tonight? I’m in my place at Hampstead 
at last—moved up here a week ago. Will you take 
the address—14, Heathermoor Gardens—up at the 
top end of Fitzjohn’s Avenue.” 

I scribbled the address on my blotting pad. 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


256 

“You’ll easily find it,” he went on. “Come at 
eight, won’t you? The best way is to go to Hamp¬ 
stead Heath tube, and walk. It’s only two minutes.” 

I gratefully accepted, for I wanted to discuss with 
him Thelma’s mysterious disappearance. 

“Have you seen Doctor Feng lately?” I asked 
him, before he rang off. 

“No; I think he must be in Paris. He told me he 
was going over,” was the reply. 

About a quarter to eight that night I emerged 
from the lift at Hampstead station, and having in¬ 
quired for Heathermoor Gardens, walked through 
the rain to a highly respectable road of large de¬ 
tached houses, each wherein dwelt prosperous city 
men, merchants, barristers and the like. The night 
was dark, and even though the street lamps shone, 
it was with some difficulty that I found Number 
Fourteen. 

The house proved to be a large corner one, of 
two stories and double-fronted. Certainly it was 
the largest and best of them all and had big bay 
windows, and possessed an air of prosperity akin to 
that of my friend, the Anglo-Turkish financier. 

The door was opened by a round-faced clean 
shaven young man-servant who asked me into the 
spacious lounge-hall in which a wood fire burned 
brightly, and after taking my hat and coat, ushered 
me into a small cozy library on the left, where old 


AT HEATHERMOOR GARDENS 257 

Mr. Humphreys rose from the fireside, greeting 
me merrily. 

“I’m awfully glad you could come, Yelverton,” 
was his greeting, “I haven’t asked anybody to meet 
you, for I thought we’d just have a quiet hour to¬ 
gether, so that I can show you round my new home, 
and we can have a gossip. Sit down. Dinner will 
be ready in a moment.” 

Then he pressed the bell and a moment later the 
man appeared bearing a tray with two cocktails. We 
raised our glasses and drank. Mine was delicious. 
I gazed around the sumptuously furnished room and 
congratulated him upon it. 

“Yes,” he said. “I’ve tried to make it as cozy 
as I can. I thought I would bring my furniture from 
Constantinople, but on second thought, decided it 
was too oriental and heavy and would hardly have 
been in keeping with an English house. So I sold 
it and have bought this place and furnished it.” 

“It is really charming,” I said, noting the taste 
displayed. 

“Yes, I didn’t want it to appear too new, so some 
of the stuff is second-hand. I hate a place which 
looks like the palace of a war-profiteer, don’t you?” 
he laughed. 

The room was just my ideal of a man’s den, lined 
as it was with books with a soft-lined Turkish carpet* 
a big carved writing table and several deep saddle- 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


258 

bag chairs. The atmosphere was heavy with the 
scent of his exquisite Turkish tobacco—that my host 
smuggled—the only way to get the first grade of 
tobacco-leaf. 

He referred to it as he handed me a thin cigarette. 

“In these days of Turkey’s trials—thanks to her 
German betrayers, one no longer gets a little of the 
tobacco reserved for the Yildiz as it used to be. 
The Sultan grew his own tobacco in Anatolia—the 
most delicious of all tobacco and the second grade 
was sold to Europe as the finest. But the best was 
always kept for the Yildiz and for His Majesty’s 
ministers and his harem. I fear the few cigarettes 
I have left are the last of the Imperial tobacco.” 

My cosmopolitan host was a prominent and pow¬ 
erful figure on the Bosphorus. I knew what he had 
said was the truth, and I smoked the delicious ciga¬ 
rette with intense enjoyment. 

“Dinner, sir!” announced the smooth, round-faced 
man. 

Crossing the hall I found myself in a long, sump¬ 
tuously furnished dining room with shaded pink 
lights and at a small table set in the big window 
covers were laid for two. 

A big dining table of polished rosewood, which 
could seat a dozen persons or more, stood in the 
middle of the room. In its centre was an oblong 


AT HEATHERMOOR GARDENS 259 

piece of Chinese embroidery and upon it was set 
a great apricot-colored bowl of autumn flowers. 

*‘I eat at this little table,” he laughed as we sat 
down. “One has to have a larger table, but I shall 
only use it when I have guests.” 

The room was a very handsome one with several 
fine old portraits on the green-painted walls, while 
a cozy wood fire burned upon huge old-fashioned 
“dogs,” sending out a fragrant scent and a glowing 
warmth which was comforting on that chilly autumn 
night. 

“It is most artistic,” I declared when I was seated. 

“Yes, but somehow I miss the oriental sumptuous¬ 
ness of my house at Therapia, down on the Bos¬ 
phorus. Still, when one is forced to live in London, 
one must adopt London’s ways.” 

The man had served us with excellent clear soup 
and had left the room when my host suddenly looked 
up at me and said:— 

“Oh, by the way, what is the latest concerning 
your little friend of Murren and her husband?” 

“Well, Mr. Humphreys,” I said, “the fact is she’s 
disappeared. That is what I want to consult you 
about. 

“Disappeared!” he exclaimed, staring at me. 
“Then she’s followed her husband into oblivion 
—eh?” 


26 o 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


“It certainly appears so,” I said. 

“Very curious! I didn’t see it in the paper,” he 
declared. “Tell me what you know.” 

“Well—what I know only puzzles me the more,” 
was my reply. “She simply left her mother at Bex- 
hill, saying she was going to London, and disap¬ 
peared. But one very curious fact I’ve discovered 
is that a few days ago she and her husband called 
upon Doctor Feng.” 

“Called on Feng!” he cried, starting up. “You 
—you’re mistaken, surely! Audley has called on 
Feng—impossible!” 

“Why?” I asked, surprised to see how perturbed 
he was. He saw my surprise and the next instant 
concealed his keen anxiety. But it had struck me 
as very unusual. I knew that Feng and he were 
close friends. I suspected the former of knowing 
more than he had revealed to me, and it seemed how 
that old Mr. Humphreys was equally annoyed that 
his friend had concealed Audley’s visit from him. 

“It seems incredible that the missing husband 
and his wife should call upon Feng,” he said. “How 
do you know this, Yelverton? I am much interested 
—so tell me. The whole affair has certainly been 
amazing. You say they saw Feng a few days ago?” 

“Yes, at his house at Castlenau,” I said. “But I 
thought the Doctor would certainly tell you, as you 
and he are such friends.” 


AT HEATHERMOOR GARDENS 261 


“He’s told me nothing. I saw him only two days 
ago and we spoke of you. He was going to Paris. 
He declared the whole affair to be a romantic mys¬ 
tery—and the unfortunate feature of it was—well, 
that you had fallen in love with Audley’s wife.” 

“I believed that Audley was dead,” I said, in 
haste to excuse myself. 

The old man stroked his scraggy beard with his 
thin hand, and smiled. 

“Ah! my dear Yelverton, you’re young yet,” he 
said. “Nobody will blame you. She’s uncommonly 
good-looking, and in her distress you, no doubt, 
pitied her and then the usual thing happened. It! 
always does. She was alone and unprotected, and 
you stood as her champion—eh?” 

I only laughed. I suppose his words accurately 
described the situation. But I could see that what 
I had told him concerning this visit of the missing 
man to Feng had somehow disturbed him deeply. 
Indeed, his very countenance had changed. He was 
no longer the well-preserved, hale and hearty old 
man he usually looked. He had suddenly become 
pale and wan, and he questioned me, with obvious 
anxiety, as to how I had gained knowledge of what 
I alleged. 

Quite frankly I repeated almost word for word 
what I have already told concerning my visit to 


262 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


Castlenau and what old Mrs. Martin, the Cock¬ 
ney housekeeper, had revealed to me. 

Humphreys only frowned, grunted in dissatisfac¬ 
tion and remarked: 

“I can’t think that Feng would have seen the 
missing young fellow and say nothing to me.” 

“Why?” I asked, perhaps unwisely. 

“Why—well, that’s my own affair,” he snapped. 
“I have reasons for saying so,” he almost snarled 

At that moment the man-servant came to take our 
soup plates and served the fish with almost religious 
ceremony—“sole Morny” it was. 

Suddenly my host laughed, a deep, rippling laugh. 

“Well, after all, Yelverton, you’ve been badly 
bamboozled, haven’t you? You thought young 
Audley was dead, and that dainty little woman was 
free to marry you. But he’s evidently turned up 
again. Yes—I realize the disappointing situation 
from your point of view. Absolutely rotten!” and 
he laughed merrily. He had apparently recovered 
his usual self-possession. 

But the change I had noted had set every nerve 
in my body keenly on the alert. I remembered how 
his face had changed, the sudden, sullen contraction 
of his brows, his anxiety that was obvious no matter 
how he tried to hide it. Of course I could not un¬ 
derstand his sudden mistrust of his friend, Feng. 
Perhaps, after all, the old doctor had some hidden 


AT HEATHERMOOR GARDENS 263 

motive for concealing the fact that bride and bride¬ 
groom had met again after those many months of 
inexplicable separation, and that his silence was not 
merely accidental. Still, it was clear Humphreys 
did not think so. 

“I thought that the doctor would certainly have 
told you of Audley’s reappearance,” I remarked. 
“Indeed, when you rang me up I was at once ex¬ 
tremely anxious to see you and hear your opinion 
of the whole situation.” 

“You want my opinion,” he said in a hard tone— 
a voice quite changed. “Well, as you know, I 
thought you a fool from the first. You ought never 
to have had anything to do with the affair. It was 
far too dangerous.” 

“But why dangerous? Tell me.” 

“Well—it was—that’s all. You told me of the 
warning and of the attempt upon you. But tell me 
more of Feng—of what his housekeeper told 
you,” he urged, rising, taking a bottle of white wine 
from the big carved side-board and pouring out a 
glass for me and for himself. “This is very inter¬ 
esting.” 

I described my telephone chat with Mrs. Shaylor 
and my call at Castlenau in further detail. 

“Strange!” he remarked, reflecting deeply. 
“Really, I had no idea that Audley had ventured 
to be seen again.” 


264 THE CRYSTAL CLAW 

“Ventured 1 ” I echoed. “Why did he disappear?” 
His remark betrayed certain knowledge that he had 
never divulged to me. 

“My dear fellow,” he laughed. “He disappeared, 
as you know, but I assure you I haven’t the slightest 
knowledge of either his motive or his intention. I 
believed Feng to be as much in the dark as I am. 
But it is evident that he knows and has held back his 
knowledge from me. I can’t understand it,” he 
added, his countenance clouding again. 

Then, after a moment’s reflection he said with a 
smile: 

“But, after all, why should I, or you worry, my 
dear Yelverton? You have surely cut the little 
woman out of your heart. If you haven’t—you’re 
a fool.” 

“I haven’t,” I replied frankly. 

“You still love her?” he asked, looking keenly at 
me as I sipped my wine. 

I nodded. 

“Then you are still a fool! I should have thought 
that after all your experience of being misled, duped 
and ridiculed, you would have seen how impossible 
it was.” 

“Why impossible?” I asked. “Mr. Humphreys, 
I believe you know far more than ever you will re¬ 
veal to me,” I said earnestly. “Do tell me what 


AT HEATHERMOOR GARDENS 265 

you know. I don’t conceal the fact from you that 
I love Thelma.” 

u You needn’t. I’ve known that all along. So has 
Feng. You’ve worn your heart on your sleeve for 
everybody to see. Ah! how very foolish you have 
been, my boy. But tell me—are you still determined 
to solve the mystery concerning Audley’s disappear¬ 
ance?” And again he looked straight into my eyes. 

“I am,” I replied, “nothing will deter me from 
seeking the truth.” 

“Nothing?” he asked, with an inscrutable smile. 

“No,” I said firmly. “I love Thelma and I mean 
to clear this mystery up at all hazards.” 

The man seated before me drew a long sigh, 
and I saw that his brows were knit. 

“Ah! he exclaimed. “I repeat that you have been 
foolish—very foolish, my dear young fellow, and 
I am afraid that you will regret it when—when 
too late.” 

What I had told him regarding Audley’s meeting 
with Feng had evidently caused him great anxiety, 
and I noticed that he had left his wine untouched. 

Again he spoke, but his words sounded so faint 
that I did not catch them. At the same moment I 
thought I heard in the distance a shrill scream—the 
scream of a woman! 

I listened. The scream was repeated! 


266 THE CRYSTAL CLAW 

I saw Humphreys spring from his chair in sudden 
alarm. 

“Hark!” I cried, breathlessly. “What was that?” 

But as I spoke the room seemed suddenly to re¬ 
volve about me rapidly. Then everything faded 
from my sight: and I felt paralyzed. 

Again that shrill scream of terror fell upon my 
ears with increased distinctness. 

Next second consciousness left me and everything 
was abruptly blotted out. 


CHAPTER XX 

THE CHILD'S AIR-BALL 

When at last I regained consciousness, after an 
interval I could not measure, my half-opened eyes 
fell upon a strange scene, one which at first seemed 
to be fantastic and unreal. 

' The room was unfamiliar, of good size and well- 
furnished but dimly lit, only one light showing in the 
electrolier in the centre. Even by that light I rec¬ 
ognized that it was neglected and evidently had been 
long closed, for a strange close smell greeted my 
nostril’s and I saw that dust lay thickly upon the 
round polished table in the centre. 

Upon the table a small piece of candle was set 
upon a plate. 

I tried to make out where I was and what had 
happened. But all I could tell was that I was seated 
in a cramped position, tied hand and foot. My 
limbs ached intolerably as though I had remained 
there many hours. 

Suddenly I heard a movement in the shadow, the 
opening and closing of a door, and a moment later I 
267 


268 THE CRYSTAL CLAW 

saw silhouetted before me the figure of old 
Humphreys. 

“Well?” he asked in a hard, sarcastic voice, “and 
how are you getting on now—eh?” 

“I—I don’t know,” I replied so faintly that I 
could scarcely hear my own voice. “Where am I?” 

“You are in my hands at last, Rex Yelverton,” he 
snarled. “You chose to interfere in matters that did 
not concern you. You have had plenty of warning. 
But as you refused to heed them I have decided to 
act.” 

“What do you mean?” I cried in dismay. “What 
harm have I done you?” 

The old man merely chuckled exultantly at the 
way I had fallen into the trap he had so cunningly 
prepared—with Feng’s aid, no doubt, I thought. I 
had all along believed the old cosmopolitan financier 
to be my friend. I sat aghast at the astounding dis¬ 
covery that he was my enemy. For a few seconds I 
remained speechless. 

“Now,” he said in a deep vindictive voice, “there 
is but little time left. Look over yonder.” 

He turned the switch and the room was instantly 
flooded with light, and as I gazed, dazzled by the 
sudden brightness, I saw seated in a chair within a 
few feet of me, a woman’s figure. 

It was Thelma! 

I shrieked her name, but only a faint sound 


THE CHILD’S AIR-BALL 


269 

escaped my lips, for my throat was dry and sore, and 
I could scarcely raise my voice above a hoarse 
whisper. 

Her hair was dishevelled, her eyes were closed, 
her face was white as marble, and her head hung 
inertly on one side. She was clearly unconscious. 

It must have been her scream of terror that I had 
heard while we sat at dinner! 

“What does this mean?” I demanded trying to 
rise. But my hands were secured tightly behind my 
back with a piece of rope, which had been passed 
through a hole in the wall behind me and secured 
upon the opposite side. 

I was powerless to move more than six inches 
from the wall! 

“It means that you have only five minutes more 
to live!” the old man answered slowly, with dia¬ 
bolical grin. “You escaped once by a miracle—but 
I have taken good care not to fail this time.” 

“You assassin!” I cried, glaring at him and yet 
entirely powerless. 

“That’s enough!” he cried, striking me a blow 
upon the check with his open hand. 

“But I can’t understand!” I cried. “What harm 
have I done—or what has Thelma done? 

“It does not matter to either of you,” he laughed. 
“You love her. You’ve told me so. Well—in five 


270 THE CRYSTAL CLAW 

minutes’ time you will be married to her—in 
death!” 

My brain was clearing rapidly as the effect of the 
drug I had taken wore off and I was cool enough to 
think keenly to desire some means of escape. But, 
try as I would, I was powerless. The more I 
strained at my bonds the more cruelly the rope cut 
into my tortured wrists. 

A flood of questions poured through my mind. 
What could have happened? Where was Stanley 
Audley? Was he in the hands of Feng, whom I now 
looked upon as Humphreys’ fellow conspirator? 
But, above all, what had I done—what had Thelma 
done to arouse Humphrey’s diabolical hatred? 

Despite the pain I was suffering I made another 
furious effort to break loose. I strained, till I felt 
my very wrists must give way, to go to Thelma’s 
assistance. But I was held in a vise. 

Thelma lay white as death. Was she, indeed, 
dead already at the hands of the bearded fiend who, 
I now thought, must be a lunatic. 

My attention was diverted to Humphreys’ pro¬ 
ceedings. I watched him closely, puzzled by what 
he was doing and utterly unable to comprehend his 
purpose. 

From a cupboard in the room he brought out a tin 
of petrol. From his pocket he drew a large toy bal¬ 
loon of the kind which enterprising firms use to ad- 


THE CHILD’S AIR-BALL 


271 

vertise their goods. It was not inflated, but limp 
and I remember that even in my bewilderment, I 
noticed that it was a bright yellow and bore painted 
upon it the name of a famous West End firm. 

Using a small funnel he began very carefully to 
fill the balloon with petrol. I was surprised at the 
amount it held. The tin, which had been full, was 
nearly empty before he had finished. 

Then, suddenly, like a flash of lightning, under¬ 
standing of his horrible purpose burst upon my mind. 

“My God!” I gasped, “you surely do not intend 
to burn us alive.” 

“My dear young fellow, you have had every 
chance to escape, and yet you have refused, because 
of your silly love for Audley’s wife,” he said in hard, 
metallic tones. “This house, I may tell you, is ‘to let 
furnished.’ The board is now hidden in the shrub¬ 
bery. The dinner served you was provided by a 
well-known firm of caterers who sent their man, 
whom I have dismissed. In a few moments this 
place will be a roaring furnace and a mystery-house 
to the Fire Brigade of the London County Council.” 

Then with diabolical coolness he went on with his 
preparations. 

Above the table was a handsome electrolier. To 
this, by means of a piece of string, he hung the 
petrol filled balloon so that it was suspended about a 
foot above the candle I had noticed on the table. 


272 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


“You see,” he explained with a grin, “I light the 
candle and put it just below the balloon. You can 
spend the time—it might be half an hour perhaps— 
in imagining what is about to happen. The heat 
from this little candle will cause the petrol slowly to 
expand until it bursts the balloon. Then down 
comes the petrol on the candle and the whole house 
will be a roaring furnace in a couple of minutes. Do 
you understand?” and he laughed in my face. 

I ground my teeth, but made no reply. 

“Well, good-bye, Yelverton,” he said in a voice of 
affected cheeriness, and yet in triumph. “I wish you 
both a merry journey into the next world. Perhaps 
you’ll find her your soul-mate there. Who knows?” 

Next instant he had switched off all the lights and 
left us alone. 

Only that fatal candle flickered as gradually its 
heat was causing the fragile yellow balloon to ex¬ 
pand to bursting point. 

Soon it would explode and then we should both be 
burned alive. Nothing could possibly save us! 

My heart sank. Once again, however, hope re¬ 
vived within me. I strove to tear myself free from 
my bonds. But it was useless. 

I heard the front door close with a bang and then 
knew that the man who had entrapped us had left. 
No doubt he would be lurking in the vicinity in order 
to make sure of the result of his devilish handiwork. 


THE CHILD’S AIR-BALL 273 

I tried to rouse Thelma by calling to her. Ap¬ 
parently Humphreys had not troubled to bind her 
and if I could only awaken her she might be able to 
get help before it was too late. But I could not raise 
my voice above a hoarse whisper: no shrieks of mine 
could call assistance. And, I reflected, Thelma, even 
if she were not dead, must have been heavily drugged 
and would no doubt remain unconscious for some 
time. Humphreys would never have run the risk 
of leaving her free to move if she came to herself. 

My brain whirling I gave up the struggle after 
one more ineffectual attempt to free myself and re¬ 
signed myself to my fate. 

Horror froze the blood in my veins as I gazed in 
agony first at Thelma, helpless and unconscious in 
her loveliness, and then at that innocent-looking toy 
balloon, charged with the deadliest menace, hanging 
only a few inches above the flickering candle. To 
my distorted imagination it appeared to be swelling 
monstrously and hideously. I felt myself stupidly 
wondering how much larger it would grow until it 
split and let loose a flood of fire in that silent room. 

I realized the devilish ingenuity of the scheme. It 
was clear that once the balloon burst and the volatile 
spirit became ignited, the furniture and hangings of 
the room would burn with terrific violence. The fire 
could not be seen through the shuttered windows 
until practically the entire housd was ablaze, even if 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


274 

at that late hour a chance passerby should come 
along. And before help could possibly reach the 
spot, the house would be a furnace. Every trace of 
the cause of the fire would be consumed: only our 
bodies, charred beyond all possible identification, 
would be found beneath the ruins. Our fate would 
remain unsolved and the fire would be relegated to 
the ever-growing list of London’s unsolved mys¬ 
teries. I found myself dully speculating as to the in¬ 
surance, realizing that the owner of the house would 
be duly recompensed, and that the assassin whom I 
had never even suspected would go scot free. 

And above all, even in those swiftly flying 
moments, I still speculated as to Humphreys’ possi¬ 
ble motive in a plot which, I was now convinced, 
must have been originally formed amid the snows of 
Switzerland—a plot between the mysterious doctor 
and the cosmopolitan financier who had posed as my 
friend. How could Hartley Humphreys, reputed 
millionaire, benefit by the extinction of two such 
humble lives as Thelma’s and my own? Murder is 
seldom or never motiveless, except it be committed 
by the homicidal maniac. Was Humphreys really 
insane or was he a cool, calculating, ruthless criminal, 
working out to its logical end some plan to which I 
had not the key? 

At any rate, so far as we were concerned, we were 
faced by instant peril. Humphreys had laid his 


THE CHILD’S AIR-BALL 


275 

plans well. We had no possible loophole for escape. 
I was pinned and could not budge from the wall 
against which I was held. If I had been handcuffed 
—and handcuffs can be bought of many gun-makers 
in London—they would have remained as tell-tale 
evidence amid the debris of the fire. That length of 
rope showed how cleverly the plot had been devised 
so that all evidence of the murders would be effaced 
by the roaring flames. 

By the faint light of the candle I could scarcely 
discern more than the marble face of the girl I had 
grown to love. My eyes ever and anon wandered to 
that yellow globe suspended above the table. 

At any second it might burst. Then the flames 
would run rioting through the room and in a moment 
we should be enveloped. 

Again I tried to shout for assistance. 

All was silent. The candle flickered and then 
again grew brighter. 

“Thelma!” I shrieked in my agony, but my voice 
was only a whisper. 

“Thelma! Thelma! My God! Thelma!” I 
cried, trying in vain to arouse her. 

But she still remained there with her beautiful 
head drooped in a manner which showed that either 
death or unconsciousness had overtaken her. 

I realized that death was very close to both of us. 
For myself I cared little. I could face it. But 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


276 

Thelma! Must I, loving her as I did, watch her die 
before my eyes? 

Those moments of agony seemed like hours. 
Outside the circle of light thrown by the candle the 
room seemed dark and cavernous. The smell of 
motor spirit hung heavily on the air and the silence 
was absolute. I could even hear my watch ticking 
in my pocket. Unless a miracle happened we 
were doomed. I had become too weak to make 
more than feeble efforts to free myself and these, of 
course, were futile. 

“How much longer ?” I caught myself asking. 
How long would it be before that innocent-looking 
globe splits asunder and lets loose its flood of fire. 
As the slow moments passed the pressure of the va¬ 
por within caused the thin film of rubber which held 
the inflammable spirit to swell larger and larger. 

At first, I had noticed, it sagged heavily, dragged 
down by the weight of the liquid. Now the bright 
yellow globe was distended until it seemed on the 
very point of bursting. The white printed words of 
the advertisement on its sides danced mockingly be¬ 
fore my eyes. 

Now and again the flame of the candle flickered, 
caught by some stray breath of air. Then it steadied 
and grew bright. I noticed that the wax had begun 
to gutter into the plate. The evil flame fascinated 
me: held my eyes fixed on it in helpless horror. 


THE CHILD’S AIR-BALL 


277 

By this time the balloon had become distended to 
twice its original size. 

Suddenly the end came. The balloon split apart. 
A blaze of flame momentarily lit up the room and in 
its lurid glow I caught a glimpse of Thelma. At the 
same instant I heard a door open. 

Then all was blackness and I knew no more. 


CHAPTER XXI 

WHO WAS DOCTOR FENG? 

I fancied that I heard my name spoken. My 
ears were strained— 

“Rex! Rex! Listen; can’t you hear?” I seemed 
to hear faintly afar off. 

The voice sounded unusual, like a child’s, weak 
and high-pitched. Surely I was in a dream. 

“Rex! Rex! Listen! Can’t you hear?” the 
voice continued. It seemed like the shrill voice of a 
tiny girl. 

I listened stupidly: in my lethargy I had not the 
power to reply. 

For a long time I listened, in a sort of delirium, I 
suppose, but did not hear the voice repeated. 

Suddenly, how long afterwards I cannot tell, I 
distinctly saw Doctor Feng’s face grinning into mine. 
Upon his white-bearded countenance was a look of 
exultant triumph. His eyes danced with glee. The 
sight angered and horrified me. I closed my eyes to 
shut out the features that seemed to me sinister and 
mysterious. 

A strange sense of oppression, of being deprived 
278 


WHO WAS DOCTOR FENG? 279 

of air and of my body being benumbed, overcame 
me. I could not stir a muscle. In my ears there 
sounded a strange singing like the song of a thou¬ 
sand birds. At the same time I experienced consid¬ 
erable difficulty in moving, for I seemed to be en¬ 
veloped in something which, weighing upon my 
limbs, kept them powerless, as though I were still 
manacled. 

I remember that both my wrists pained me very 
badly, where the rope had cut into them so cruelly. 
Then, like a flash, came back a hideous memory of 
those moments of horror and those darting red 
tongues, of flame. The terror of those moments 
when I faced a horrible death I now lived over 
again. I lay appalled. 

I must have shrieked in my befogged agony, and 
in shouting I again opened my eyes. 

An eager face peered into mine; it was that of a 
woman in a white linen head-dress—a hospital nurse 
evidently. She uttered some words that I did not 
comprehend. I tried to grasp them, but my hearing 
was so dull that I only heard high-pitched sounds. 

No wonder! After a few moments of blank be¬ 
wilderment I realized that from head to foot I was 
swathed in oil-soaked cotton wool. There were 
small openings for my eyes and another small aper¬ 
ture lower which enabled me to breathe. 

Now memory surged back upon me in full flood 


28 o 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


and again the horror of those dreadful moments at 
Heathermoor Gardens fell upon me. 

I recollected everything in detail. But I was alive 
—alive! after passing through the valley of the 
shadow of death, through the flames that had licked 
my face! 

But where was Thelma? 

I tried to ask. But the calm-faced nurse only 
shook her head. Was it that she could not under¬ 
stand my muffled words; or was it that Thelma was 
dead? 

Once more I implored her to explain, but she 
again shook her head, placing her fore-finger upon 
her lips to enjoin silence. 

Then she put some medicine to my lips, and speak¬ 
ing soothingly, compelled me to swallow it. 

I lay there stretched upon the bed, my wondering 
eyes seeing only the whitewashed ceiling of the nar¬ 
row room. The atmosphere seemed heavily laden 
with some disinfectant and I noticed, with idle curi¬ 
osity, how very closely the nurse watched over me. 

I believed it to be about mid-day. But my be¬ 
wildered brain was obsessed by thoughts of those 
two devilish plotters—Feng and Humphreys—who 
had been my friends amid the Alpine snows and had 
later conspired to kill me. 

The full purport of what had actually happened I 
could not understand: I remembered nothing after 


WHO WAS DOCTOR FENG? 281 

the flash of flame and the noise of the opening door. 
Closing my eyes I racked my brain in useless conjec¬ 
ture. Why should the hateful old doctor, of all 
men, have shot that triumphant glance at me, while I 
lay there inert and helpless? 

After that I must have lapsed into unconscious¬ 
ness. The injuries I had suffered, coupled with the 
awful mental agony I had undergone, had brought 
about, as I learned afterwards, complete loss of 
memory and many weeks elapsed before I was able 
to understand what was going on around me. 

My awakening to consciousness was a curious ex¬ 
perience. 

I was utterly unaware of anything that was pass¬ 
ing until suddenly, I heard, as from a vast distance, 
a thin voice calling my name:— 

“Rex! Rex! Rex Yelverton!” It came again. 
Then I seemed suddenly to wake up. There was a 
blaze of sunlight round me. And there before me, 
radiant and beautiful in a flimsy white summer gown, 
stood Thelma, her face positively shining with hap¬ 
piness and tears of joy running down her beautiful 
face. 

I held my breath, scarcely believing I could be 
awake. Was it a vision? Memory rushed back to 
me. Again I saw Thelma, limp and helpless, in that 
hateful room at Hampstead. Was I alive? Had 


282 THE CRYSTAL CLAW 

she indeed escaped the awful fate that had threat¬ 
ened her. 

There she stood against a background of high 
feathery palms. Beyond her was a sapphire, sunlit 
sea, while around were orange trees heavily laden 
with fruit and a wealth of climbing geraniums and 
crimson rambler roses. 

As my brain slowly cleared I looked around. To 
my surprise I found myself seated in a low cane 
lounge-chair upon a well-kept lawn—seemingly a 
hotel-garden. Not far away some people were 
strenuously playing tennis; others were seated be¬ 
neath great orange and emerald colored umbrellas, 
taking tea. 

“Thelma!” I gasped, my burning eyes staring and 
bewildered. 

“Rex! Thank God! At last! At last you know 
me!” she said, springing forward and grasping both 
my hands. “You’ve been very ill, my dear, devoted 
friend.” 

I stared at her and saw that she was very pale and 
worn. But the soft hands that I held were real! 

So surprised, so utterly perplexed was I, that I 
could hardly find my tongue. But after a few mo¬ 
ments of silence, the chords of by unbalanced brain, 
at first unable fully to realize my whereabouts, were 
touched. 

I heard her speak. “You do know me now, Rex 


WHO WAS DOCTOR FENG? 283 

—you do, don’t you?” she demanded in tense 
eagerness. 

“Yes,” I replied. 

“And you can really recollect?” she asked, softly, 
bending over me. 

“Everything,” was my answer, as I sat there like 
one dreaming. But, indeed, at that moment, I 
doubted the reality of it all, for the evil faces of both 
Feng and Humphreys overshadowed that fair scene 
of feathery palms and tranquil sea. 

“Ah! The doctors were right after all!” she 
cried joyously. “They advised us to bring you here. 
—to Cannes.” 

“What? Am I in Cannes?” I asked astounded. 

“Yes,” she said, “This is The Beau Site Hotel. 
Do you feel well enough to know what has 
happened?” 

I nodded—weakly, I am afraid. I felt well 
enough physically, but shaken and overwrought. 

“Can I have some tea?” I asked limply. 

Thelma burst out laughing. “Now, I’m sure you 
are better,” she bubbled. “Wait a moment and I 
will have it sent out.” 

She disappeared into the hotel and in a few 
moments a waiter appeared with tea things. H$ 
glanced at me and bowed. “I’m glad monsieur is 
better,” he said simply. 

How good that tea tasted! It was glorious to be 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


284 

alive again and I ate and drank with good appetite. 
I felt better every moment: it was clear I was well 
on the way to recovery. 

“And now, Thelma,” I asked when we had fin¬ 
ished. “Tell me what happened. I remember noth¬ 
ing after the fire. Have I been ill long?” 

“You must be prepared for a surprise, Rex,” she 
said gently. “Do you know—of course you cannot 
—that that was five months ago?” 

“Five months!” I echoed stupidly. “Have I been 
ill all that time?” 

“You have been very ill indeed, Rex, and for a 
time we had very little hope that you would ever re¬ 
cover. You got over the burns fairly quickly in the 
Hampstead Hospital but your memory gave way. 
But don’t worry now, the doctors all said you would 
probably recover yourself quite suddenly and be ab¬ 
solutely yourself again. But they could not say how 
long it would be and it has been weary waiting. 

“How long have I been here?” I asked. 

“About a month. Doctor Feng will be here soon: 
he will be delighted.” 

“Doctor Feng!” I flared out. “Why should he be 
pleased? Perhaps Humphreys will be pleased too. 
He was a great friend of Feng’s. 

“Humphreys is dead, Thelma said gently. “I 
can’t tell you the full story yet—you are not well 
enough—but he was traced from the house in Hamp- 


WHO WAS DOCTOR FENG? 285 

stead to some rooms he had in secret in Earls Court 
Road and he shot himself there when the detectives 
went to arrest him. Now be quiet and don’t bother 
your head about things. Everything is all right and 
you shall learn all from Doctor Feng. You can rec¬ 
ognize me now and you will soon be yourself.” 

“But, Thelma,” I cried, “how did you escape? 
Were you hurt?” 

“Now, don’t trouble about me,” she said lightly. 
“You will see Doctor Feng soon.” 

“I don’t want to see him,” I said snappishly. “He 
was a friend of Humphreys’ and I believe was in 
league with him.” 

Thelma looked at me, a soft light in her eyes. 
“No,” she said simply. “You are making a great 
mistake. You never had a better friend, nor 
Humphreys a more deadly enemy than Doctor 
Feng.” 

I sat up in amazement. Feng my friend! Had I 
distrusted the old doctor without reason? 

“Here he is!” cried Thelma joyously and I looked 
up to see Doctor Feng, in a gray summer suit and 
white felt hat striding briskly across the lawn to¬ 
wards us. 

A glance at me was sufficient to tell him the good 
news; there was no need for Thelma’s excited out¬ 
burst. The old doctor silently held out his hand, 
his seamed face alight with obvious pleasure. 


286 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


I took it in silence and wrung it hard. The scales 
had fallen from my eyes and I felt thoroughly 
ashamed of my lack of faith. I had ignored my real 
friend and had put my trust in the scoundrel who had 
planned, happily in vain, to send Thelma and myself 
to a horrible death. At that moment my confidence 
in my knowledge of men, on which I had been apt to 
pride myself in bygone days, sank to zero. 

Feng was the first to break the silence. 

“By jove, Yelverton,” he said, “I’m glad to see 
you all right again. You’ve had an infernally nar¬ 
row squeak of it. And it was all my fault. I ought 
to have been more wary.” 

“Your fault!” I stammered. “How?” 

“Well, your narrow escape from being burned to 
death with Thelma, was due in part to me. Owing 
to my belief in my own foresight I.made a big error 
of judgment.” 

“How? I don’t understand. All I know is that 
Thelma and I were entrapped by your friend 
Humphreys in that house in Heathermoor Gardens. 
A most diabolical plot was laid for us both. What 
happened?” 

“Then you recollect it all—eh? Well, that’s an 
excellent sign,” he said. “You both escaped death 
by a hair’s breath. The damnable plot was well de¬ 
vised and the plotters never dreamed for an instant 
that it could fail. Every precaution had been taken, 


WHO WAS DOCTOR FENG? 287 

even to the cutting of the wires of the fire-alarm out¬ 
side Hampstead Station! Yes, you can both thank 
Providence that you are alive today. But, do rest, 
my dear fellow/’ he added. “You must not tax your 
brains too quickly. In an hour’s time I’ll tell you 
more. Till then, I’ll leave you both together. But 
remember, your conversation must not concern the 
affair in the least. I forbid it, Thelma! Please 
recollect that,” he added very seriously. 

“Very well,” she said. “We’ll go for a stroll 
down to the Casino and back,” and I rose and accom¬ 
panied her. 

Thelma chatted as we strolled along. But in 
obedience to Doctor Feng she would not refer to 
what had passed. For my own part I felt utterly 
mystified. Where was Stanley Audley? Why was 
Feng my friend and Humphreys’ enemy? What 
was Thelma doing here away from her husband? 
How had we been saved? These and a hundred 
other puzzling questions darted through my mind, 
and I fear my attempts at conversation were poor 
and spiritless. 

But one thing she told me roused my keen 
interest. 

Day after day, she said, she had sat by my side, 
many times every day, softly calling my name. Doc¬ 
tor Feng was responsible. He had an idea— 
perhaps because he knew my love for Thelma—that 


288 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


her voice might be the means of rousing me from 
my stupor. And, thank God, the experiment had 
succeeded, though Thelma confessed she had almost 
given up hope after many weary weeks. At last, 
after hundreds of failures, her call had reached my 
subconscious mind, the dormant cells of memory had 
suddenly awakened, my unbalanced mind once again 
returned to its normal state. 

As I looked into her great grey eyes, I saw how 
filled she was with anxiety concerning me. I gazed 
at her in silence. The suffering she had undergone 
seemed to have had no power to mar her great per¬ 
sonal beauty. Though her face was colorless it was 
calm, and her eyes were full of sadness. 

One subject alone was uppermost in both our 
hearts, but old Feng had forbidden us to mention it. 
Therefore as we strolled along together through the 
gay streets of Cannes with its well-dressed merry¬ 
making throngs, our conversation was but a stilted 
one. 

To me that passing hour seemed a year. Soon I 
was to learn the truth so long hidden—the secret of 
the great mystery was to be solved, for I saw from 
Doctor Feng’s manner that he knew the truth, and 
would at last disclose it. 

When at last the hour passed and we returned to 
the Beau Site, Thelma took me up in the lift to a 
comfortable private suite where, in the sitting room, 


WHO WAS DOCTOR FENG? 289 

Feng was standing before the window which gave a 
wide view of the Mediterranean, calm in the amber 
glow of late afternoon. 

“Let us sit down,” he said, and I noticed how 
much more marked his slight American accent had 
become. “What I have to tell you, Yelverton, will 
take same little time. It will surprise you too, for it 
is a remarkable and complicated story—an amazing 
hotchpotch of love, hate, avarice, and a callous, 
cruel cunning perfectly devilish. I may as well be¬ 
gin at the beginning. 

I took an easy chair and the old man went on with 
his strange history. 

“First of all,” he said, “it is necessary to go back 
to the days when Thelma’s father was alive and on 
the China station. You will remember I told you he 
was able to render a very great service to Sung- 
tchun, who was one of the leaders of the Thu-tseng. 
Exactly what that service was we shall never know 
—the secret would involve too many men who are 
still alive. 

“But whatever it was, it was very important— 
very much more than a mere matter of organizing 
the escape of Sung-tchun from Siberia. That, of 
course, was important, but, after all, it was only a 
matter of one man’s life. There must have been 
something far greater, of which we shall probably 
never learn. 


2 9 o THE CRYSTAL CLAW 

“Do you remember my once saying to you that the 
arm of the Thu-tseng was long?” 

I nodded. I remembered perfectly the old chap’s 
grave look as he spoke the words. I had little sus¬ 
pected their tremendous import. 

“Well,” Feng continued, “you and Thelma have 
to thank the Crystal Claw for the fact that you are 
alive today. Had I not been at Miirren when it 
arrived, had I not know its significance, the devilish 
plot planned by Humphreys must have succeeded. 

“I did not know when I arrived at Miirren any of 
the facts that soon after came into my possession. 
That I should have been there was one of the won¬ 
derful instances of the working of Providence. 

“The arrival of the Crystal Claw fairly staggered 
me. Never before has it been bestowed upon a 
European. I knew at once that around Mrs. Audley 
some tremendous story must hang. I am not un¬ 
known in the Thu-tseng and I determined to get at 
the truth. What I learned in reply to my cables both 
surprised and alarmed me. It showed me that Mrs. 
Audley was in terrible danger. It put me at once on 
my guard with reference to Hartley Humphreys. 
From that time forward he was under almost inces¬ 
sant supervision. 

“Now here are the essential facts. Sung-tchun 
was an extremely wealthy man—how wealthy no one 
exactly knew. He made a very remarkable will, in 


WHO WAS DOCTOR FENG? 291 

which he left the whole of his vast fortune to Miss 
Thelma Shaylor.” 

Thelma started violently. “Left a fortune to 
me!” she burst out. “Why I never heard a word 
about it.” 

“No,” said Feng, “there was a proviso in the will 
that except for some grave reason, of which # the 
trustees were to be the judges, you were not to be 
told until you reached the age of twenty-one. Sun- 
tchun was anxious that you should not be exposed to 
the advances of mere fortune-hunters until you were 
old enough to have had a reasonable experience of 
the world. 

“Now if the will had contained nothing else there 
would have been no difficulty: you would have been 
perfectly safe. Unfortunately Sung-tchun added a 
codicil which was, as events proved, to bring you into 
terrible peril. 

“That codicil provided that if you died childless 
the vast bulk of Sung-tchun’s wealth should devolve 
upon a Chinese named Chi-ho who was living in 
New York. Now here is a crucial fact. Chi-ho was 
hopelessly in the power of Hartley Humphreys. 

“Humphreys learned of the provisions of Sung- 
tchun’s will. He had lived in China; he knew the 
country well and he was very wealthy. By the 
treachery of an official of the Thu-tseng he learned 
of that fatal codicil. It was an amazing instance of 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


292 

leakage of information for which the history of the 
Thu-tseng knows no parallel and the offender has ex¬ 
piated his crime by the forfeit of his life. 

“Chi-ho probably never realized the vastness of 
the sum to which he would be entitled if Thelma 
died childless. Humphreys, no doubt, only told him 
part of the truth. Chi-ho, in consideration of get¬ 
ting his freedom from Humphreys made over to the 
latter, in strictly legal form, all his interests under 
the will of Sun-tchun. That document was found 
among Humphreys’ papers after his death, of which 
Thelma has already told you. 

“Very soon after that document was signed Chi-ho 
died—stabbed to death in what was said to be a tong 
feud in the Chinatown district of New York. I can¬ 
not say with certainty that the whole thing was ar¬ 
ranged by Hartley Humphreys but Chi-ho’s death 
was very convenient to him. 

“Now you have this interesting position: only 
Thelma’s life stood between Hartley Humphreys 
and the Sung-tchun fortune. 

“All these facts came to me by cable—in code, of 
course, from Canton. I did not think it necessary or 
desirable to tell you and of course I had no permis¬ 
sion to reveal the fact that Thelma was a great 
heiress. But I was keenly on the watch. My Can¬ 
ton correspondent warned me very specifically to 
beware of Hartley Humphreys, whose secret record 


WHO WAS DOCTOR FENG? 293 

in China—outwardly he was of the highest respecta¬ 
bility—was appalling. And the Thu-tseng knew all 
there was to know about him. 

“That will explain to you, Yelverton, Humphreys’ 
alarm when he saw the Crystal Claw. He knew it 
might mean anything—for instance that Thelma 
was being watched over and guarded by the agents 
of the most powerful secret society in the world. If 
that were the case, he knew, a single false step would 
mean his certain ruin—perhaps even his death.” 

“You didn’t seem much concerned about his alarm 
when I told you,” I interrupted. 

“No,” said the doctor with a smile, “it wasn’t 
necessary. I should not have been surprised if the 
sight of the Crystal Claw had frightened him off his 
scheme. But his avarice was evidently so unbounded 
that he was willing to run any risk for the sake of 
money. 

“Now comes a curious part of the story that I 
think Mrs. Audley had better tell herself.” He 
turned to Thelma. “Please tell Mr. Yelverton 
about your marriage,” he said. 

“Well,” said Thelma, hesitatingly. “I was in¬ 
troduced to Stanley Audley at a dance at Harrogate. 
He was an electrical engineer and was apparently 
also possessed of considerable means. We met fre¬ 
quently. Twice I had tea at his rooms in London 
and one day at the Savoy he introduced me to 


294 THE CRYSTAL CLAW 

Harold Ruthen who, I understood, was a newly 
formed acquaintance of his. 

“Mother rather liked Stanley, who always spoke 
enthusiastically of his firm, Messrs. Gordon & Aus¬ 
tin, the great electrical supply company, and of his 
eagerness for advancement. When we became 
engaged mother raised no objection, for he was so 
keen and enthusiastic in everything. One day he 
motored me down to a place called “Crowmarsh,” 
near Wallingford, where I found he possessed a fine 
old-world house, where we were to live when we 
married. I was charmed with it and we both spent 
a glorious day there. Three weeks later we were, 
as you know, quietly married at St. James’ church 
in Piccadilly, and went at once out to Switzerland 
for our honeymoon, where we met you both. 

“Then one morning Stanley received a telegram. 
When he read it he became both confused and 
alarmed. He did not show me the message, but told 
me that it was imperative that he should return to 
London at once. I now recollect that we were in the 
hall of the Kiirhaus when the concierge handed him 
the message, and seated in his invalid chair, near the 
big stove on the right, was old Mr. Humphreys, 
whom I did not then know, but who was no doubt 
watching us intently.” 

“He had followed you to Miirren with a very- 
definite object,” Feng went on. “He must have been 


WHO WAS DOCTOR FENG? 295 

watching you for some months beforehand, and I 
have no doubt your sudden marriage was a severe 
blow to his plans. 

“I had serious difficulty in making friends with 
him. Of course he knew I was a Chinese and I 
really believe that he suspected at first that I was an 
agent of the Thu-tseng. It was only when he found 
that I had been at Miirren some time before Thelma 
and Audley arrived—and therefore, he thought 
could not be specially interested in them—that I suc¬ 
ceeded in getting inside his guard. Of course, by 
posing as his friend, I was able much more easily to 
keep track of his movements. 

“Do you remember your escape from the 
avalanche ?” ^ 

“Rather!” said Thelma and I simultaneously. 

“Perhaps you will be surprised to learn that that 
avalanche was not the unaided work of Nature,” 
said the doctor. “You did not notice a man some 
hundreds of feet above you?” 

“No,” I said, “but what do you mean?” 

“It’s a very easy thing to start an avalanche,” said 
Feng with a smile. “There was a man above you 
that day and the avalanche was started deliberately. 
Your guide John found out the truth afterwards. 
But the would-be assassin—I have no doubt he was 
in the pay of Humphreys—was never traced and the 
matter was hushed up. It would not have done to 


296 THE CRYSTAL CLAW 

let Humphreys know that the truth was suspected. 
As a matter of fact I did suspect it and implored 
John to investigate. 

“But with regard to Stanley Audley I confess I 
was completely misled. When he received that tele¬ 
gram recalling him to London I believed that the 
story he had told you about his profession as elec¬ 
trical engineer, was a true one. Only when it was 
proved to be without foundation did I see that I, 
like yourself, had been cleverly bamboozled. Until 
then I had believed Audley to be what he repre¬ 
sented himself to be. I never dreamed of the truth. 
Hartley Humphreys, a crook to his finger tips, pos¬ 
sessed a master-mind, obsessed by criminality, and 
having no idea of my actual purpose he acted with 
such amazing cunning and forethought that he must 
be placed among the list of the master-criminals of 
the world.” 

“Of course I had no suspicion,” said Thelma. “I 
didn’t even know that I was an heiress.” 

“And I was fool enough to think that Humphreys 
was my friend and you were my enemy, Doctor,” I 
said with some shame as I thought of how com¬ 
pletely I had been deceived.” 

“Well,” laughed Feng, “that’s all over now. But 
I’m glad I was able to deceive you because it helped 
me to deceive Humphreys. He was quite aware of 
your feeling towards me. You are fairly trans- 


WHO WAS DOCTOR FENG? 297 

parent, Yelverton, if you don’t mind my saying so!” 

“The position was very extraordinary. Humph¬ 
reys got Audley out of the way—I will explain that 
later—and that, he thought, would leave Thelma 
unprotected. But he never expected your interest in 
the bride. You became a very unwelcome bit of grit 
in a very well-oiled machine. You were constantly 
with Thelma, she was never left alone for a moment 
•—and you were in the way.” 

And the shrewd old man smiled mysteriously. 


CHAPTER XXII 


THE SECRET DISCLOSED 

‘‘But what was the mystery of Audley’s disap¬ 
pearance?” I asked Feng, in breathless eagerness, 
now that the enigma was in course of solution. 

“Well, Humphreys at first did his level best to 
prevent the marriage, but finding that impossible he 
went very cleverly to work. Audley, who was a 
young man of means—though he pretended that his 
profession was that of electrical engineer—had, 
Humphreys discovered, fallen into the hands of a 
man named Graydon, a friend of his, who lived in 
the same house as Audley and who was one of a 
gang of note-forgers. 

“By clever means this gang had used Audley for 
their own purposes, even to the extent of sometimes 
inducing him to assume Graydon’s identity. Harold 
Ruthen was one of Graydon’s accomplices in passing 
spurious notes, hence old Humphreys knew of Aud- 
ley’s connection with the forgers. After Thelma’s 
marriage which he had tried in vain to prevent, it 
was highly necessary for the furtherance of Humpta 
reys’ sinister plan, to get her husband away. He 
298 


THE SECRET DISCLOSED 299 

therefore caused to be sent to him to Miirren a 
veiled message that the police were making inquiries 
in London and that he had better at once efface him¬ 
self, even from his wife. This he did, leaving 
Thelma in your care.” 

‘‘But was Stanley really a forger?” I asked. 

“At first I thought so, but later I found that the 
poor fellow had acted in all innocence. He was 
being blackmailed by the gang and thus forced to 
assist them, until he received that warning and fled,” 
replied Feng. “I was all the time watching the 
very deep game played by the wily old crook who 
posed as an invalid. With Audley out of the way 
he expected that it would be easy to complete his 
plans. Instead, to his great chagrin, you came for¬ 
ward as the bride’s companion and protector. It 
was then that he determined, if you still continued to 
watch over the girl, from whose husband he had con¬ 
trived to part her, that your activities should be sup¬ 
pressed. It then became my active duty to keep 
guard over both of you, which I did to the best of 
my ability. 

“It was, of course, a difficult task. Had he been 
in New York you would both have been watched 
night and day by men of the Thu-tseng. Th£ Chi¬ 
nese make the finest ‘shadowers’ in the world and in 
New York they are so very numerous that I could 
employ them with impunity. In London they are too 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


300 

conspicuous. It was really through this that Humph¬ 
reys nearly beat me at the finish. 

“But I will give you an instance of how narrowly 
you escaped. Do you remember one night when 
we all had supper with Humphreys at a Chinese 
restaurant near Piccadilly Circus?” 

“Yes,” I nodded. 

“And you remember that I signalled to you not 
to eat the cold soup that was served?” 

“Yes,” I replied. “I thought you meant it was 
something I should not like.” 

“You would have been dead in five days if you 
had eaten it,” said Feng grimly. “It was by a 
miracle of luck that I saw Humphreys drop into it a 
tiny pellet as he reached his hand out for some 
bread. The Chinese waiter took your soup away. 
Humphreys did not notice the Chinese remark I 
made to the waiter, but that soup was preserved and 
analyzed. It contained a virulent culture of the 
germs of typhoid fever. The Chinese waiter, of 
course, was an agent of the Thu-tseng. I daresay 
you will meet him some day. He happens to be a 
doctor and a great friend of mine. He analyzed the 
soup for me. If you had taken a spoonful of it 
while Humphreys was telling the funny stories at 
which you were laughing, you would have been dead 
in five days—of perfectly natural causes.” 

“But, Thelma. Did you know anything of all 


THE SECRET DISCLOSED 


3 01 

this?” I asked turning to her, astounded and 
muddled. 

“Some of the facts I knew, but not all,” she re¬ 
plied. “I hope you will forgive me, but I acted all 
along upon Doctor Feng’s instructions. At Murren 
I knew nothing, and was entirely unsuspicious of the 
plot against us both.” 

“Humphreys had degenerated into perhaps the 
cleverest financial crook in Eastern Europe,” said 
Feng. “The way in which he held Audley aloof 
from his wife while his friends Graydon and Ruthen 
were at the same time terrorizing him and compel- 
ing him to assist in passing their spurious notes, was 
a most remarkable feature of the case. He acted 
with such caution and pre-arranged things so cun¬ 
ningly, that I confess I was more than once misled 
and befogged. 

“It was he who sent you those warnings from 
Hammersmith and North London in an endeavor to 
frighten you off. He certainly had a sort of super¬ 
stitious fear of you. My chief fear for Thelma was 
that she might be secretly poisoned in a similar man¬ 
ner to the attempt upon yourself. Therefore I in¬ 
sisted that she should never take her meals in a 
restaurant alone.” 

“And I was in ignorance,” I exclaimed. 

“I deemed it best. I did not wish to alarm either 
of you, and indeed it is only since the narrow escape 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


3°2 

you both had at Heathermoor Gardens that I re¬ 
vealed to Thelma the motive of the plot. I did not 
suspect that terrible death-trap, but as soon as 
Thelma was missing I naturally felt that she must 
have fallen into the hands of one or other of the 
gang. Judge my surprise when I discovered that 
she surreptitiously, at Audley’s request, rejoined him 
in hiding at a small private hotel in Gloucester Road, 
Kensington. Audley was in constant dread of the 
police, an apprehension kept alive by Ruthen and 
Graydon, and for that reason he destroyed his 
clothes and some false notes before escaping from 
the room at Lancaster Gate. He turned the key 
from the outside, in order further to mystify those 
whom he believed to be his pursuers.” 

“I was his pursuer,” I remarked. 

“True. But he was avoiding you, as well as the 
police,” Feng said. “He was told that you were 
making inquiries concerning him on his wife’s behalf 
and would, if you gained the truth, reveal it to her. 
Naturally, he had no desire that Thelma should 
know that the police were wanting him upon grave 
charges of forgery.” 

“But why did he not openly defy those men into 
whose hands he fell before his marriage?” I asked 
“Surely, he could have cleared himself and have 
given information to the police.” 

“Ah! Humphreys, the criminal with the master- 


THE SECRET DISCLOSED 303 

mind took very good care that he was so deeply im¬ 
plicated that he dare not utter a word,” my friend 
pointed out. “Recollect his determination was that 
Thelma, alone and without friends except her 
mother, should meet with an untimely end in order 
that the Sung-tchun fortune should pass to him. 

“First, however, she married unexpectedly, and, 
secondly, you came upon the scene as her protector. 
It was for that reason an attempt was first made to 
poison you, and then that clever plot at Stamford 
whereby you were drugged by that final cigarette 
given you by the supposed commercial traveler, who 
afterwards entered your room, forced against your 
lips a bottle containing a deadly drug, and made it 
appear as though you had committed suicide. 
Humphreys believed that you knew too much, so he 
intended that you should die before the girl over 
whom you were so carefully watching. He had no 
idea, however, of the part I was playing—until the 
police went to arrest him.” 

“But could you not have told me the truth long 
ago—and given me warning?” I asked. 

“That was impossible,” he replied. “Remember 
I warned you repeatedly. You would only have 
laughed had I told you Humphreys was your enemy: 
you were already deeply prejudiced against me. 
Thelma, too, tried to induce you to give the whole 
thing up, but you refused. Had Humphreys known 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


304 

that you suspected him he would have had you both 
murdered out of hand and chanced detection. But 
as things were he elected to wait until he could de¬ 
vise a plot that would be absolutely safe. So long as 
Stanley Audley was out of the way there was no need 
for him to do anything rash. And by his patience he 
nearly won in the end. 

“But he very nearly lost,” I said. “Suppose 
Thelma and I had been burnt to death. We could 
never have been identified and Humphreys could not 
have proved Thelma’s death. That meant he could 
not have inherited her fortune at any rate until suf¬ 
ficient time had elapsed for the Courts to presume 
her death.” 

“You are a lawyer, Yelverton, and of course that 
point would occur to you. But it also occurred to 
Humphreys—another instance of his amazing fore¬ 
sight—and he took steps accordingly. Thelma, 
show Mr. Yelverton your locket.” 

With a smile Thelma took from her pocket a 
heavy locket attached to a chain and handed it to me. 
I was astonished at its massiveness and weight, until 
I saw both locket and chain were of platinum. On 
the front of the locket was deeply engraved the in¬ 
scription, “Thelma Audley—from Stanley.” 

“Platinum; you see, Yelverton!” said old Feng. 

I gasped in astonishment at the realization of 
Humphreys’ cleverness. 


THE SECRET DISCLOSED 305- 

“Of course,” I said, “it would resist the fire, the 
locket would be found in the debris and Thelma’s 
disappearance would be explained, in part at any 
rate.” 

“Yes,” rejoined Feng, “the locket would account 
for Thelma and what more natural than the conclu¬ 
sion that the remains of the man found with her 
were those of her husband?” 

“But what has become of Stanley?” I asked, won¬ 
dering why Thelma was here without him. 

“Stanley Audley is dead,” said Feng very gently, 
and I noticed the slow tears begin to trickle down 
Thelma’s face. “He died like a hero. It was he 
who rescued Thelma from the blazing room. By 
some extraordinary chance the fire seems to have 
spread mainly in your direction and Thelma escaped 
with the loss of most of her clothing and her hair 
which was almost burnt off. But poor Stanley was 
so terribly burned that he died three days later in the 
hospital. There is no doubt he loved Thelma deeply 
and utterly regretted the trouble he had brought 
upon her.” 

Stanley Audley dead! I held my breath! Then 
Thelma was free! Such was my involuntary 
reflection. 

Thelma was weeping softly. I hardly dared look 
at her. But I put out my hand and clasped hers. 
She turned her head away and gazed in silence at 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


306 

the golden glow in the west across the sea. But she 
did not withdraw her hand and a great wave of joy 
flooded through me. 

“But how did we escape?” I asked Feng. 

“We were only in the nick of time,” he replied. 
“When Thelma disappeared from her husband in 
Gloucester Road I felt certain that she had been 
decoyed away. She was—by a message purporting 
to come from her husband asking her to call at 
Heathermoor Gardens. She did so and fell into the 
hands of the man who intended she should die. Yet 
so clever was old Humphreys, that, though I kept 
him under close observation, I could not discern that 
he was acting at all suspiciously. I did not know of 
couse, of his plot to burn you alive. But we were 
watching him very closely. That night Stanley and 
I tracked him to the house at Hampstead. We saw 
you arrive later, but we little dreamed that Thelma 
was held there a drugged and helpless prisoner. 
She screamed twice, apparently, and you heard her, 
but some accomplice of Humphreys’ gave her a 
hypodermic injection—we found the mark after¬ 
wards on her arm. 

“We watched until the first man-servant came out 
and later Humphreys himself left the place and 
walking in some distance away concealed himself in 
full view of the house. Then I knew you were left 
in there, and I became seriously alarmed. 


THE SECRET DISCLOSED 307 

“Fortunately a constable was near, and unseen by 
the old villain I approached him, told him of my 
suspicions, and we all three approached the house to¬ 
gether. To our rings and knocks there was no 
answer, therefore we forced the door and rushed in. 
As we opened the door of the room where you were, 
we saw the air-ball burst and in a second the room 
was a furnace. 

“Then came a desperate fight for life. Audley 
dashed to Thelma and succeeded in getting her out 
into the street at the cost of his own life, while I 
and the constable cut the rope which secured your 
wrists. And carried you out terribly burned and in¬ 
sensible. Both the constable and I were also burned, 
but not very seriously. Before the fire-brigade ar¬ 
rived the house had been seriously damaged: but for 
our early warning it must have been utterly de¬ 
stroyed, as Humphreys intended. 

“Meawhile, Humphreys, who had seen the failure 
of his plot, made himself scarce and it was not until 
three days later that Inspector Cayley of Scotland 
Yard, with two sergeants traced him to a room in 
Earl’s Court Road, where he was hiding. But the 
old criminal had locked himself in and before they 
could break open the door he had put a bullet 
through his brain. A week ago both Ruthen and 
Graydon were arrested at the Pavilion Hotel in 
Boulogne on charges of passing spurious notes in 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


. 3° 8 

various towns in France. They will, no doubt, go to 
bard labor for some years.” 

“Well, Yelverton,” the old man concluded, “I 
think you know everything now. You have both had 
a very narrow escape from a terrible fate. Only a 
devil in human form could have devised such an 
atrocity. But now I’ll leave you alone for a bit: 
you will have plenty to talk about.” 

And with a cheery smile and a loving look at 
Thelma, the sturdy, bearded old man, to whose 
watchfulness we both owed our lives, turned on his 
heel and left the room. 

The calm Riviera sunset had deepened into twi¬ 
light, swiftly as it always does, and the,night clouds 
rising over the pine-clad Esterels cast their long grey 
shadows across the calm sea. Beneath our window 
twinkling lights shone and from among the orange 
graves below came voices and merry laughter. 

I had been speaking earnestly to Thelma—plead¬ 
ing with her all the fervor of the love I had so long 
held in restraint but which, now she was free poured 
out with violence that overwhelmed me. She heard 
me without comment or response. But she made no 
protest, she allowed me to hold her hand, even when 
I pressed it tenderly to my lips she did not withdraw 
it. 

The hope that had never quite died rose again in 


THE SECRET DISCLOSED 


309 

my heart. I felt Thelma trembling; a beautiful 
warmth that I had never seen before glowed upon 
her cheeks, her eyes were lustrous with the brilliancy 
of tears which welled up into them but did not fall. 
She stood looking out across the broad Mediter¬ 
ranean towards the African coast which the colors 
of the sunset paled into the faint splendor of the 
afterglow. 

The light was nearly gone, and still she made no 
sign. But presently words failed me and I simply 
stood and held out my arms in a last despairing 
appeal. 

Then my darling came to me, slowly and sweetly, 
her great grey eyes aflame with a light I had never 
seen before. And our lips met at last. 

We were married in October and spent our honey¬ 
moon in Seville and Malaga. Christmas found us 
at the Hotel Regina at Wengen, a little below 
Miirren, where we both went skiing daily. We 
visited Miirren, of course, hallowed to us for all 
time as the place of that strange first meeting from 
which all our troubles and all our happiness had 
sprung. 

We are rich, of course, Sung-tchun’s fortune was 
enormous. But we live very quietly in my old home 
—my father’s quaint, old-world cottage on the Salis¬ 
bury road a few miles from Andover. Most of our 


THE CRYSTAL CLAW 


310 

income, apart from our own modest wants, goes to 
help the slum children of London. Thelma never 
tires of them and every summer forms a big camp to 
which hundreds come down for a few days T glorious 
holiday. They all seem to worship her and over 
even the roughest of them she seems to exercise a 
magical fascination. 

Old Doctor Feng, to whom we owe so much, is 
our chief friend. He comes and goes as he pleases. 
There is a room reserved for him and always ready. 
Devoted to Thelma, he spends much of his time 
with us. He never tires of talking of the Crystal 
Claw, the magic talisman that saved us for each 
other. And every now and again, with his inimitable 
chuckle, he croaks out, “Yelverton, I told you the 
arm of the Thu-tseng was long!” 

It was long indeed. It stretched half across the 
world to give us—two tiny units caught in a cruel 
trap—a helping hand in our dire distress. We owe 
our wealth, our radiant happiness, our very lives to 
the magical influence of the Crystal Claw. 


THE END 






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